Won't Get Fooled Again
by Willow Edmond
Summary: Sequel to Behind Blue Eyes. When Mox's kidnappers are brought to justice, the Reigns also find out that his real name is Dean Ambrose and someone out there has been waiting for him to come home.
1. Chapter 1

_So, welcome to the sequel to Behind Blue Eyes. For anyone here who used to read my older stuff, some names will be be familiar. I am looking at this as an offshoot of my original world, where, instead of growing up with his birth mother, Dean Ambrose was kidnapped and forced into a life of physical and sexual abuse until he ran away. As you come across familiar names, please keep in mind that the roles they may play in this story are not the same as they have played in the other stories. There will also be a lot of new OC's that play minor roles as well._

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 _There is nothing quite like traveling coach in a plane to make a man realize he's carrying around some extra weight,_ Sefa Reigns thought, as he buckled the seat belt, preparing for takeoff. He was 6'1", not overly tall for this day in age, and 275 lbs. A lot of it was muscle, but if he was going to be honest with himself, not _all_ of it was. Some of it was having a wife who loved and was very good at cooking. The seat was squeezing him like a vice. Even worse, he was in the _middle_ seat, the only seat available on this flight. To the right of him was a woman, to the left of him, a man who were both carrying around a little extra poundage themselves. This would be a long six hours, even with a layover where he could stretch. All he could hope for, was that someone wouldn't be able to make the connecting flight, and he could get their aisle or window seat. But, knowing _his_ luck, he'd be smooshed in the middle again, but this time by two people who were on diets and wanted to talk about how happy they were that they were finally just under 400lbs.

 _I should have driven_ , he thought, as the woman squirmed and tried to subtly take possession of the one armrest between them. Sefa responded to her efforts by planting his elbows a little firmer and leaving her no choice, but to stop. She had an aisle seat, she could get up at any point without bothering anyone to use the bathroom or stretch her legs if she had to. Thus, she could suck it up and use _one_ armrest. Same with the guy on the other side. He had a window on his side, so _he_ could suck it up, too. The only advantage Sefa had was that he could use both of the armrests and he was going to do it.

This flight hadn't been planned, but it had been necessary. He and his wife Jen, had talked about it, after their friend, and the local Sheriff, Aaron had left the house after dropping another bombshell on a day that had already been rather explosive.

Their foster son, Jon "call me Mox" Moxley wasn't really Jon Moxley at all. His name was Dean Ambrose and his mother had been looking at him for the last ten years. They had known the name Jon Moxley wasn't the name the kid was born with, so that part wasn't a complete shock. But plenty of other things were shocking enough.

Sefa remembered the night his three sons brought Mox home. He had a sprained ankle from a roll in a drain water ditch and he refused to let them take him to the hospital. The kid had been so pale as if he'd never seen the sun, and so skinny it was obvious he wasn't being fed on a regular basis. He'd tried to claim his name was Bret Hart, which amused the hell out of Sefa. Of all the folks to find him, he picked the kids of a retired professional wrestler who also owned a camp for _teaching_ professional wrestling. Samoan Pride Wrestling Academy, named after the tag team Sefa had belonged to while in the WWF. There were a lot of folks around who would have accepted the name Brett Hart without question, but not them. They'd all met Bret Hart. Hell, Sefa and his former tag team partner had even _wrestled_ Bret and Owen Hart.

When further questioned the kid finally admitted he had forgotten his name. Sefa would have thought that was bullshit, too, but with the kid looking like he could win the "Who's The Palest" contest with Casper the Friendly Ghost, and that he'd been shirtless, even though Florida was a bug heaven, his back covered in multiple scars told enough of his story for him. Whoever had been caring for the kid had done a terrible job. The kid had been kept in the dark and barely fed him. Whatever name they had given him, it was not a name the boy wanted to be known by. And Sefa could understand that. He was pretty sure the kid had run away from that situation and he wasn't going to use the name they had given him, for safety reasons, and not using it, was also a bit of a rebirth for him.

Sefa let him pick his own name, so they would have _something_ to call him, and after a discussion involving the use of a character's name in the movie _Varsity Blues_ , Jon Moxen, they had modified it into Jon Moxley. From that moment on, he became Jon "call me Mox" Moxley. The only person who did not call him "Mox" was Jen, who called him Jon, just as if she'd picked the name Jon for him when he was a baby, and refused to acknowledge he had a nickname.

While it didn't allow him to be reborn as Bret Hart, being found by a family that had a wrestling academy turned out to be the best thing for Mox, because he _really_ wanted to be a wrestler. Sefa had trained more wrestlers than he could remember, but he could honestly say no one was as eager to learn as Mox. Once his ankle was healed from the sprain, _all_ he wanted to do was train to wrestle and he was willing to work at the camp, to do whatever job assigned him, in return for lessons. He and Jen agreed that the kid should stay with them, so they had worked around the system, getting him temporary ID, becoming foster parents, and getting him "in the system" so they could get him the medical help he needed.

They did have Aaron, the local sheriff, checking for a missing child that could be Mox, but if Sefa had to be honest, nobody was looking very hard, Aaron included. Mox really didn't have much of a desire to find his family, having believed that his mother had sold him all those years, and he still wasn't convinced she hadn't. Apparently, the few memories he did have of her seemed to imply she was, if not an addict, a heavy drug user, and possibly even a prostitute.

It would have been fine with the whole family, if Mox could make it to eighteen without being "discovered," but yesterday had changed that.

Yesterday his kidnappers came to kill him or take him back, depending on which one you talked to. Except you couldn't talk to the one who Mox had known as Sam, but was really named Simon anymore. Simon had been the one who wanted to kill "Timmy" the name they had given to Mox, but it ended up that Dennis, the one Mox called "Father", shot Simon instead, leaving Simon unable to talk to anyone, unless they could find someone really good with an Ouija board.

Dennis was in custody, and Mox was calm about the whole thing, almost _too_ calm. The only true emotion he had shown was disappointed that Sefa had cancelled the public wrestling show they had on Saturday night. Mox was supposed to take the Academy belt from Sefa's middle son, Roman, in a storyline the two of them had been working on for awhile.

 _The storyline that almost got him killed_ , Sefa thought as the safety video began, and the plane pulled out of the gate. He barely paid attention to the safety video, it gave no information he hadn't heard a million times in his wrestling days with WCW and WWF, where he'd flown almost everywhere in the world, at least twice. Instead he went back to his own thoughts.

Mox was a natural on the mike, good enough that he was even making Roman, who looked awesome, but wasn't great on public speaking, find his wrestling persona voice. The simple plot line they had created, Roman winning the belt and Mox being angry about that, taking the attitude that he'd only won it because he was the son of the owner of the academy, had created a bit of a fan base, thanks to the website his youngest son Lance had put up, that included taped matches and promos, available for downloading. According to Aaron, Dennis had told him that it was finding the website that allowed them to find "Timmy." Apparently, Dennis had been more than willing to talk after being arrested, confessing to the murder, even after his rights were read to him, and letting them know the kid's real name and where they had taken him from.

And that's what lead to Sefa being on this plane, heading to Cincinnati. After spending most of the night talking about it, they knew Mox/Dean's mother had a right to know her son was alive after all these years. Sefa was going to do that, and also, try to convince her that the best thing for Mox/Dean would be to stay with them.

 _That's going to be the tough one,_ Sefa thought, as the plane left the ground and he sunk his fingers into the arms of the seat. He didn't mind being in the air, but he hated takeoffs and landings. You could explain to him a billion times what was happening, and how safe it was, but he still hated them. A small part of him believed that if the slightest thing went wrong, the plane would explode until it was safely up in the air, or down on the ground. _If Lance were here, he'd be telling you how it all worked and why you're stupid for being scared,_ he told himself. _Well, he might not use the_ word _stupid, but that's exactly how you'd feel, stupid._

When the plane was up in the air, he let out a deep breath and relaxed. He hadn't gotten any sleep at all the night before and he was hoping to get a nap. He rolled his shoulders as best he could in the small seat, then stretched his arms out to get rid of some of the stiffness. As he did, the woman sitting next to him tried to take possession of the armrest again. But before she could get a firm grip, he brought his own arm down and pushed hers out of the way. Then he closed his eyes and tried to get some rest.

* * *

By the time Jen got back from dropping Sefa off at the airport, it was daylight. _I guess it's a pot of strong coffee for me, today,_ she thought, as she parked her car in the garage. She saw Marc, her oldest son, out on the running track, running with a group of overnight students who had arrived the Monday before. Technically, Sundays were a day off for everyone, both overnighters and those who just came for lessons, but the gym and the track were still open for use and some students took advantage of that.

Marc knew where Sefa was going, they had gone down to his house before taking Sefa to the airport and woke him up to tell him what was going on and to tell him he would be running the camp by himself for a day or two. Marc had been Sefa's assistant for the last few years, he could handle it.

Jen had been a little surprised when Marc's door was opened by a young woman wearing Marc's bathrobe and little else. With all the excitement the day before, Marc had told Jen and Sefa he was just going to bed and getting some sleep. But apparently, Noella (hadn't she said that was her name?) had called him, or he had called Noella and, well, Jen could only assume she came over and the two of them had decided to make the night a little brighter.

 _That's Marc for you,_ she thought, as she headed into the house, _I remember Sefa once joking with him that the rules of life for a young man were, 1: Never play cards with a man named Doc. 2: Never eat at a place called Joe's. and 3: Never pass up the chance to have sex or use the bathroom. Clearly he took the first part of number three, seriously._ The good or bad thing about Marc, depending on how you looked at it, was that he loved women and women loved him right back.

When she got into the house, the first thing she did was make coffee. The pot was still clean from where she'd washed it and set it up with water before taking Sefa to the airport, which told her that two of her sons had to be asleep, or they would have started a pot. She realized with a jolt, that she had automatically assumed Jon as one of her sons. _Do I have the right to do that anymore?_ she wondered. _Think of him as my son?_

She was taking a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator, when her youngest son, Lance came downstairs, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, hair still tousled from sleep, but breath smelling minty, which told her he'd at least brushed his teeth. He yawned and went to the cupboard and took down a glass. Since Jen was already at the refrigerator, she handed him a pitcher of orange juice. He accepted it, poured himself a glass and returned it to the refrigerator. "Dad and Marc still training?" He asked, looking at the clock. "I'm up early, today."

Jen wasn't surprised he was up early. Nine-year-old Lance had been the one to discover Mox being confronted by his kidnappers on the cross country wooded trail that ran along the edge of the property. And at that point, Simon/Sam had the gun trained on Mox. Lance had managed to quietly sneak away and then ran to get help. Fortunately, he had not seen Dennis shoot Simon, but coming across Mox, who he had come to think of as another brother, having a gun pointed at him, had been traumatic enough. She had ended up giving him two children's Benadryl shortly after dinner, and he'd been sound asleep by eight o'clock, of course he'd be up early today.

"Marc is out training," Jen said. "Your father is out of town."

Lance frowned. "Is everything okay?" he asked, taking a drink of his orange juice before bringing it over and putting it by his place at the table. "Does this have anything to do with what happened yesterday?"

 _Of course he would associate his father being gone with what happened yesterday,_ Jen thought. _He never remembers the days when his father had to travel all the time to make a living._

Sometimes, Jen and Sefa joked with each other about their kids, referring to Marc as the Honeymoon baby, Roman as the Shoulder Surgery baby, and Lance as the Injured Knee baby. Their kids were spaced far apart, Marc was 24, Roman was 16 and Lance was 9 going on 10. And Roman and Lance were born about nine months after Sefa had been out of wrestling on an injury. But Lance had also been Retirement baby. Sefa realized that even though he tried to stay in touch with his sons, both Marc and Roman were looking at him as this stranger they called Father, who was hardly around.

Sefa had just come down from being on the top of his game in the WWF, a member of one of the hottest tag teams the company had ever seen, Samoan Pride. He and his partner, Aleki Safuta, both decided to leave the WWF at the top, rather than wait to be phased out and replaced by younger wrestlers who were eager to make their mark.

Sefa had access to a huge plot of land, originally intended to be used by Jen's father, upon his retirement, with hopes of starting a horse farm. Unfortunately, he had died before he could retire and Jen's mother had given Jen and Sefa the land as part of Jen's inheritance. Sefa used it to open one of the biggest wrestling camps in the United States the Samoan Pride Wrestling Academy.

Jen struggled with what to tell her youngest son. She didn't want to lie, but the truth would be too hard for him to handle, and until things were decided, she really didn't want him telling Mox what was happening. "I-I can't tell you what it's about," she finally said. "I promise I will, as soon as I'm able, but right now, all I can tell you is that he's had to go somewhere and he'll be back in a couple days. Maybe even sooner."

"Can you at least tell me if it is about Mox?" Lance asked, going over to the cabinet and taking out five plates.

Jen shook her head. "I'm sorry, I can't."

"Then it is," Lance said, eyes narrowing as he looked at his mother. "What's going on?" He brought the plates back to the table and started putting them in their proper places.

Jen sighed, cursing the fact that Lance was smarter than his years. Of course she couldn't fool him. But, she was still the parent. "I can't tell you," she said, making her voice as firm as she could. "And you are _not_ allowed to discuss it. Not with your brothers, not with _anyone._ "

"I _should_ be able to," Lance said, scowling. " _Especially_ since it concerns Mox."

"I didn't say it did," Jen said.

"But you didn't say it _didn't._ " Having set the plates, Lance went to one of the drawers and started pulling out silverware.

"That's because I don't want to play twenty questions," Jen said in a desperate attempt to throw Lance off the track. "If I said no, you would ask if it was about something else, so on and so forth, until you figured it out. I love you Lance, but this is something that cannot be talked about until more is known."

"More is known about what?" Roman asked, coming into the kitchen. He was wearing a pair of loose fitting shorts and a "Crusaders" T-shirt that represented the Catholic High school football team that he played on. His hair was pulled back neatly in a ponytail, letting Jen know he'd been awake for at least enough time to get ready for the day. It was Sunday, and he probably thought they'd be going to church after breakfast, because if they didn't go on Saturday night, they went Sunday morning. Since Roman had his license, Jen had been debating if she should skip Mass in favor of a nap.

"Dad's out of town," Lance answered for Jen, as he began putting the silverware on the table. "And Mom won't tell me what it's about. But I'm thinking it has something to do with Mox."

Roman's brow furrowed and he looked at Jen. "Does it?"

"I'm not _telling,"_ Jen said, although she did plan on telling Roman a little more once she could get him alone, which meant maybe she _should_ go to church, since Lance didn't attend. Well, that would depend on if Mox wanted to go. "I told Lance that I'm not saying it does or doesn't have anything to do with Mox, because I don't want to play the twenty questions so he can try to figure it out. And I won't play it with you, either. Your father isn't going to be gone for very long, a couple days at the most. He might even be home tomorrow. And, since we're talking about Mox, how is he doing?"

"He's still asleep," Roman said. "And if he had any nightmares, they were quiet enough not to wake me. Those sedatives the doctor gave him must be strong, because it's Sunday and he _never_ oversleeps on Sunday… and speaking of Sunday, I don't smell cinnamon rolls."

"I know," Jen confessed. Every Sunday she made nine cinnamon rolls. Everyone got one, but the first three to get to the breakfast table got two of them. Sefa never lost, which left a fierce competition for the other two. "I just didn't have time."

"No cinnamon rolls?" Lance asked, frowning. "That sucks!" Jen frowned at him, but he ignored it.

"Give mom a break, pipsqueak," Roman said. "She probably had to drive Dad to the airport."

Jen gave Roman a grateful smile. "True. And I promise to make up for this. At some point this week, I will make cinnamon rolls for breakfast."

"You don't have to," Roman said. "I mean, you're nice enough to make them for us in the first place."

"Yeah," Lance said, looking crestfallen. But then he smiled and said, "But we sure won't stop you if you want to."

"I'll make them when your father is home," Jen decided.

* * *

"Can I drive?" Roman asked his mother as they went to the garage. He expected his mother to tell him no, because she really didn't like riding in the ancient SUV, which was the main vehicle Roman used.

To his surprise, his mother nodded and tossed him a set of car keys. "As long as we can take my car."

Roman caught them and stared at them, then at her. She looked more than tired, she had that look that crossed extremely worried in with so exhaustion. _Weary,_ he thought, _She looks weary_. "Did you get _any_ sleep last night?" he asked her. "I mean, if you want to just skip Mass, I think God will understand."

"No, I did not sleep last night," Jen said, "But I still want to go to Mass. I have a few prayers I need to say and I need to talk to you. But I _am_ tired enough to let you drive both ways."

It wasn't until they were out of the driveway and headed down the road before his mother decided to talk. "You father has gone to Cincinnati."

"Oooookay," Roman said, dragging out the word. "Is there a reason?" As far as he knew, there was no reason at all for anyone in the family to have to go to Cincinnati. His father might have known a few wrestlers that made Ohio their home, but nobody close enough that his father would fly out there on a moments notice, especially with all that was going on, lately.

Jen sighed. "Aaron came over last night, after you boys were in bed."

Instantly, Roman knew what this was about and it was like being punched in the gut. "Cincinnati is where Mox is from, isn't it?"

"Yes," Jen said softly. "And his real name is Dean Ambrose. Dennis told Aaron when he was arrested. Both his real name and that they had taken him from Cincinnati. They ran it through the database and discovered he has people who are looking for him."

Roman felt his jaw tightening. "How do we know that _Dennis_ is telling the truth?" he asked, making Dennis sound like a swear word. "I mean, maybe he's still lying. Trying to throw us off the track by giving the name of a different missing kid. Maybe one they killed or that someone else, took."

He could feel his mother looking at him, even though he didn't take his eyes off the road. "Roman, do you _really_ think that's very likely?"

Roman sighed, and clenched the steering wheel harder. "But it _could_ be what happened. It's not _impossible_."

"True, and I am sure your father will do whatever he can to make sure that Jon really is Dean" Jen's voice was quiet and calm, but Roman knew his mother well enough to know she was covering up a lot of emotions.

He tried to do the same, tried to just calmly drive, but his fingers were clutching the steering wheel to the point where his knuckles were white. "Mox won't want to go," he finally said.

"We don't know that for sure, either," Jen said.

"He loves wrestling. He loves the Academy, he loves _us._ _We're_ his family, not those people in Cincinnati." Roman tried not to sound angry, but he couldn't help his voice from rising. He wasn't yelling, but he was on the borderline. "Where were these folks in Cincinnati when he was kidnapped and tortured? Where were they when he managed to get away from those guys and we found him? _We're_ the ones that took him in!"

"Roman," Jen's voice was soft, but firm. "Are you _really_ being fair to his mother? She didn't have a clue where he was and I'm sure she did everything she could do to find him."

Roman let out a long breath. "No," he admitted. "But it isn't _fair,_ Mox is happy with us. What's Dad going to do?"

"Talk to the police and hopefully talk to his mother," Jen said. She paused and bit her lower lip, and Roman could tell she was debating if she should tell him the next part. Finally, she spoke. "He's going to try to convince her to let Jon, I mean, Dean, stay with us."

"So there's hope?" Roman asked, feeling his emotions lift slightly.

"Well, yes," Jen said, "But, I know how I would feel if it were you that had been taken rather than Jon, and I don't know if I'd be willing to let another family keep you. I would want you home."

"I think you'd want what was best for _me,"_ Roman said. "Even if it was awful for you, you'd want me to stay where I was happiest. And Mox likes it with _us._ He wants to be a wrestler. What better family for him than us?"

"I'm not arguing any of that," Jen said. "But we have to find out what is going on and what can be done. But Roman, you're forgetting one thing."

"Oh?"

"Your Dad is going to talk to Jon's mother and maybe she will agree that we're what's best for him and let him stay with us. But _then_ we have to ask Jon, I mean Dean, how _he_ feels. He might want to go home."

"He won't." Roman was confident of that. "He believes his mother sold him. He remembers her as a drug user and maybe even a prostitute. He _won't_ want to be with her. And stop calling him Dean! He doesn't even know that's the name he was born with!"

"That could be," Jen said. "But we'll still have to give him the choice."

* * *

Mox awoke with that sluggish, fuzzy headed feeling one gets from being in a drug induced sleep. His limbs felt heavy from lack of movement and just sitting up took a lot more effort.

He dragged himself into the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and took a shower. A feeling that everything was different was settling over him, but it didn't all hit him until he was in the shower, the hot water washing over him.

 _Sam is dead_.

 _Richard was arrested. No, not Richard, his real name is Dennis._

 _Dennis was saying some fucked up shit about loving me. And part of me almost believed him, but most of me just didn't give a shit. Dennis might have, in his own twisted way, loved "Timmy," but I am not Timmy anymore. I am Mox._

These were not the best of thoughts, but then came the worst one, _The show was cancelled last night. The night I was going to win the belt from Roman, and my stupid fucking kidnappers had to_ ruin _it._

He grabbed his shampoo bottle. Not the "conditioning shampoo" Roman used, but baby shampoo. Sure, it was supposed to be for babies, but that just meant it wasn't as fierce as regular shampoo. And the smell of it disappeared quickly, so Mox liked it. The stuff Roman washed his hair with, some special "Man blend" smelled like the cologne he sometimes wore when he went to church or on dates.

Mox liked to tease Roman about his cologne and body spray usage, but he never told him how much he _hated_ the scent. Not just the scent of Roman's cologne, but the scent of any man's cologne. How, when Roman took a shower late at night, after Mox had fallen asleep, and left the door open, Mox would sometimes wake up, _smelling_ that cologne scent. And the heat from the shower would roll that scent out to him and he'd want to curl up in a ball and just wait for it to happen, for his "father" and Sam to tell him they had company.

 _It reminds you of life before,_ his brain told him. _Of the guys your fa-Dennis used to bring down. So many of them reeked of cologne. Even worse, some of them, when it was all over, would pull a bottle out of their pocket and splash it all over themselves, trying to cover up the scent of sex._

There was a part of him that hoped that at least one guy still got busted by his wife or girlfriend or _someone_. That he'd splashed that cologne all over and it still hadn't done the trick and their partner or whoever, kicked him out of where they lived and never had anything to do with him again. And, while that might be a mean and petty thing to hope for, he'd had plenty of fantasies over the years involving them getting into accidents on the way home that killed them. Causing a break up or ten was a pretty mild fantasy in comparison.

When he left the bathroom, he noticed Roman's bed all neatly made up and looked at the clock. It was almost 10, which shocked him, because he never slept this late. _Those sleeping drugs the doctor gave me were some powerful shit. I wonder what would happen if I took half of one? Would I fall asleep or get a buzz?_ It had been a long time since Mox had caught a buzz. Well, actually, Mox had _never_ caught a buzz, but Timmy had. Timmy drank beer, snorted cocaine, smoked pot, and in general, tried everything that was offered to him. He found pot to be useless, but he had like cocaine a lot. E was fantastic. However, he knew the Reigns family weren't going to put up with that, and that wrestlers really shouldn't do drugs. Sure, some wrestlers did take drugs, steroids and things, but that didn't mean they _should_. Mox felt he was already at a disadvantage having been denied food and sunshine growing up, he figured he had to take extra good care of himself from here on out.

He dressed in a pair of sweatpants, fairly new ones that still had that fluffy feeling on the inside, and a plain gray T-shirt and went downstairs.

He figured Mom and Roman had probably gone to Mass and Marc might have gone with them, but Lance was another story. Lance was the family agnostic and rather insistent about it. In fact, when Mox first lived here, the kid refused to go to anything religious, but Mox had convinced him on Thanksgiving, that he might as well go to Mass, just for the family doing something together aspect. Lance had attended and also attended Christmas Mass as well. But other than that, Lance did not go to Church.

"Hey, Lance," he called out, as he went into the kitchen and went to the coffee pot. "Where are you, runt?" There was at least one cup of coffee still in the pot, so he found his mug, the one he'd gotten on his sixteenth birthday, which advertised the academy on one side, and had red letters on the other side that spelled out MOX. He loved that mug.

He could hear Lance turning off the TV in the den. A few moments later, he was in the kitchen. "Hey Mox, don't call me runt."

"Why not?" Mox asked. "You're shorter than me. Did mom leave me a cinnamon roll?"

Lance shook his head, sadly. "She didn't make them this morning, because she had to drive Dad to the airport. He had to go somewhere, and Mom won't tell me where it is, or what he has to do."

"That's because you'll ask too many questions and drive her nuts," Mox said, not unkindly, as he reached out and rubbed the top of Lance's head.

Lance ducked and stood out of arm's length. "Why do people think it's bad that I want to _know_ things?"

Mox shrugged. "It's not that wanting to know some things is bad, it's that you want to know _everything_ and not everything is your business." Before Lance could protest, Mox changed the subject. "Bummer about the cinnamon rolls."

"I know," Lance said, sighing. "She said she would make them when Dad came home."

"Then let's hope Dad comes home soon." Mox said, sipping his coffee and debating if he should make some eggs for breakfast, or just toast some bread and put peanut butter on it.

"Yeah," Lance said, then looked at him, head tipped to one side. "Aren't you curious about what's up with Dad?"

"Not that much," Mox said, shrugging. "I figure we'll know whats up, when and if it's important."

"I wish I was as calm about it as you are," Lance said, going to the refrigerator and getting himself an orange.

Mox shrugged again as if to reinforce that he was perfectly calm about this, and perfectly content to wait until the truth revealed itself. _Congratulations, Mox,_ he told himself, _You're lying sack of shit._ With all that happened yesterday, Mox was pretty well convinced that this trip Sefa was taking, had _something_ to do with him, he just didn't know what.

* * *

 **Author's** ** Notes**: Thank you, all of you who supported me through _Behind Blue Eyes._ If you read it and enjoyed it, that's great. If you decided to favor and/or follow the story, that's fantastic, and if you commented on it, that's awesome. I love hearing from my readers. And I hope everyone decides to continue to follow the journey I have for Jon "Call me Mox" Moxley.

I had some good and bad things happen while writing the rough draft of this story. We found a little stray cat in our backyard and she won us over. We had no intention of taking in another cat, but we couldn't resist her. Her name is Kismet and she has eight toes on her front paws, which means eight claws and then dew claws. 18 claws on her front feet. Even for polydactyl that's fairly unusual. Then, later, our cat Jesse passed, which about broke me apart. We had some other issues too, but we are recovering.

Mostly though, I need to thank all of you who encouraged me through the editing/rewriting/publishing of _Behind Blue Eyes_. Your appreciation, comments and genuine love of the story kept me going. And that's a good thing, because writing it has helped a lot with my chemo brain. I am still not perfect and don't think I ever will be, but my linear thinking has improved drastically and that is amazing as far as I'm concerned. So, to all of you? Thank you, I really appreciate it!


	2. Chapter 2

Here is my usual collection of words merely put here to make it so the Chapter number centers better. Most people might consider this a little excessive, but I'm kind of compulsive about this. Again, I don't know why FFnet can't give us a few more formatting options. Have I written enough words to make this work? I hope so!

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 _{o}-{o}-{o}_

 _Well_ , Sefa thought as he pulled the rental car into the parking lot at the police station in Cincinnati, _If this is near where Mox spent the first five years of his life, then I have even more reason to feel sorry for him_. The police station was right on the outskirts of the projects, but that didn't seem to be a big crime deterrent, in fact, there was some unpleasant graffiti on the brick walls of the precinct, most of it referring to the police in less than stellar terms.

As he parked the car in an empty space, he wondered if it would be safe, but comforted himself with the thought that he'd bought the extra insurance. He had a feeling that around here, being parked at the police station might not be as much of a deterrent to crime as one might expect.

The inside of the building was as dismal as the outside of it had promised it would be. Everything about it looked old, worn, and tired. The painted walls has stains on them, the floors dull and dingy, the "no wax" coating long since worn off. The few windows to the place had bars on them, and probably wire built into the glass. And they looked permanently dirty.

The front desk kept the main part of the downstairs separated with a wooden and glass wall that had a speaker that you used to alert whoever was on the desk. It reminded Sefa of a ticket office for a movie theater, a theater that only showed old depressive movies. When he told the woman running the desk that he could possibly have information on a missing child, she directed him to the stairs. "You'll want to go to the third floor, that's where the plainclothes detectives are, and they're the ones that handle the missing kids."

"I'm surprised you don't have an elevator," Sefa remarked.

"We do," the woman said. "But it gets stuck a lot. You're welcome to give it a go though, if you want to take the risk."

Sefa decided to take the stairs.

* * *

Marc was surprised to see Noella still in his house when he came in to shower and change after running and working out with the students. Noella never hung around if she spent the night, which was one of the things he liked about her. It wasn't that he minded if women wanted to hang out for a bit, it was just that when he woke up, he was usually intent on getting to work at the camp. He usually told women who spent the night for him, at least the first time they stayed, that they were welcome to hang out as long as they wanted, but he had to get going.

Some women had questioned that, thinking that since his father owned the camp, Marc could work whenever he wanted, but Noella never did. Most times when she came over for the night, she would be up and gone before he woke up, leaving nothing but the scent of her perfume on the pillow next to his, and the lingering scent of lovemaking in the room. But she had been here when his parents came down to let him know that Sefa was going out of town, and since he had been asleep, she had been the one to answer the door. He thought that after that, greeting his mother and father wearing his bathrobe, she would leave the second she felt she could get away, but he knew she was still here, because the radio was going in the kitchen and he smelled cinnamon and yeast in the air.

 _If it isn't Noella, then someone broke into my house to make some form of cinnamon bread and play '90s dance music,_ he thought, _and that seems like a senseless crime to me_.

He walked into the kitchen to the sound of Robin S singing _Show Me Love,_ and sure enough, Noella was there, still wearing his bathrobe, dancing around the kitchen as if it were a dance floor. He rarely used his kitchen, it was a lot easier to take meals with his family, but that didn't mean he didn't have all the tools a kitchen needed, and apparently, Noella had found them all. She had somehow found food too, because he sure didn't stock anything that could be turned into the lovely scent of cinnamon floating on the air. Or, even the scent of good coffee. He only kept instant in the house.

She turned, as if sensing him and smiled, not the least bit embarrassed to be caught dancing in his kitchen wearing his bathrobe. Before he could say anything, she danced over to him and took his hand. He spun her around a bit, moving with her to the music. He was a fairly good dancer, at least good enough that when he went to the clubs he was highly in demand as a partner, but Noella was a far better dancer than he was. She had told him once she had taken various dance classes when she was younger, and it showed in her moves.

She was grace personified and beautiful with her long, so-black-it-almost-looks-blue hair that fell down her back in a tangle blanket of waves and curls, along with her almost flawless mocha skin and deep set eyes. _I see her as almost every_ _cliché_ _there is for a beautiful woman,_ he found himself thinking. _But she might as well be the one that all those_ _clichés were first spoken about._ And he realized that his thoughts were so sugar sweet and sentimental that he was in danger of becoming a cliché himself and shook his head to clear his mind of such things.

When the song ended and the DJ cheerfully made him feel old by telling his audience that the song had come out in 1993, and that was _nine_ years ago, Marc smiled. "Why does my kitchen smell so good?"

"Because I went out and picked up some things," she said.

"Wearing that?" He indicated his bathrobe.

She nodded. "I went to that little shop on the outskirts of town and to the coffee shop. I was in and out. I saw more than one person in their pajamas."

That was another thing he admired about her. Other girls he dated would have insisted they take a shower, do their hair, find the right outfit, and put on makeup before they left the house, even if it was just to grab the newspaper. Not Noella. Instead, Noella was willing to go pick up coffee and food wearing nothing but- "Did you at least put on panties?" he asked her, eyebrows raised.

She gave him a wicked smile. "No, I did not. Would you like to see?" When he nodded, like a lovesick schoolboy, she took a step back from him, and opened the sides of the bathrobe, just enough to expose her waist and legs. She wasn't wearing panties, but she was wearing a pair of _his_ drawstring shorts, tied around her slim waist, where they hung around her hips. She could have put both of her legs in one leg of those shorts and worn them like a skirt, and still had plenty of room.

He smiled, both amused, and a bit turned on as well. He shook his head again, not wanting to get anything started that he might not be able to finish. "Why does it smell like cinnamon?" he asked, changing the subject.

"You've told me how much you and your family likes the cinnamon rolls your mother makes on Sunday mornings. I knew she wasn't going to have time to make them when she came home from taking your father to the airport. I didn't listen to you and your parents when they came here to talk to you, but I knew it was serious. So, I figured I could make cinnamon rolls." As if on command, a timer went off and she walked over to the oven, and taking two potholders she had lying on the counter, she opened the oven and removed two pans of rolls, releasing a strong burst of that cinnamon and yeast smell. "I don't know if they'll be as good as your mother's," she said, putting them on the granite counter to cool. "But I used the recipe my father used and I always loved his cinnamon rolls."

"They _smell_ just as good," Marc said.

"We'll give them a few minutes to cool, while I make the icing, and you can give them the taste test."

Five minutes later, she pinched a bite off one of the rolls in the smaller pan and popped it in his mouth. He chewed with his eyes half closed, an expression of bliss on his face. "I will never _ever_ say this to my mother, but these are just as good as hers."

"Good." She smiled. "I'd think less of you if you told her mine were as good. She's your mother, she deserves to go to her grave thinking her children will always find her cinnamon rolls superior to all."

He smiled. "So, do you want to come with me, when I bring these up to the house? Meet my brothers?" He normally shied away from introducing the girls he dated to his family. He was afraid it might give both the girl and his family the idea that this relationship was more serious than it was. But, something told him that that it might not be so bad if his family thought there was more going on with Noella. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if there _was_ something more going on with him and Noella.

She shook her head. "It's not time for that. Your family is going through something, and until it's been resolved, you should do whatever is possible to bring as little stress as possible."

 _My family are going to suspect something when I bring up cinnamon rolls that a girl baked,_ he thought. _Because_ that's _never happened before_. "Are you leaving then?" He asked her.

She smiled, as she put some foil over the larger pan of rolls to keep them warm. "How about you bring these to your parent's house so your brothers and mother can enjoy them warm from the oven. And then come back here and we can have cinnamon rolls and coffee together. And, some scrambled eggs."

He returned her smile, taking the pan of rolls from her. "I'd like that."

"So would I."

* * *

Sefa had to go through another metal detector once he got to the third floor, which surprised him because he'd had to go through one to get past the entrance. But, once he passed that, he noted the glass protection on the first floor was missing up here. He told the young man at the desk he was here because he had information on a missing child.

"What's the child's name?" the officer asked.

Sefa was about to say, "Jon Moxley" when he caught himself. "If we have the right kid, his name is Dean Ambrose."

The desk officer's eyes widened for a moment, and he nodded. "Detective Miller is the person you want to talk to about that case."

Sefa's brows raised. "Is his first name Barney?"

The desk officer frowned and looked puzzled. "No, it's Peter. Did someone downstairs tell you it was Barney?"

Sefa sighed, feeling old. "No, never mind."

"You can have a seat," the officer said, pointing to a few uncomfortable looking plastic chairs that were bolted together as he picked up his desk phone. "I'll tell him you're here."

Sefa had barely settled into one of the plastic chairs when a man who looked to be in his mid 40's, but fit, wearing an off white button down shirt and a pair of black pants came out. "Are you the person who has information about Dean Ambrose?" he asked as they shook hands.

"I might," Sefa said. "Is there someplace private we can talk?"

"Sure, why don't you come back to my office."

They had to pass several desks, out in the open, to get to Peter's office, which told Sefa that Peter was not just a regular detective, he had some importance. The office even had a window that looked out on the dismal parking lot. Peter motioned to a chair, and went around to sit at his desk. "I hope you're not here to tell me you work for forensics somewhere else and that a body has been found."

Sefa shook his head. "I'm Iosefa Reigns, but you can call me Sefa. I run a wrestling school in Florida. And no, I haven't found a body, but we have a boy living with and working for us who is about the right age. He was kidnapped when he was around five or six and they had him for at least ten years, if not longer. One of his kidnappers was arrested recently, and he says the boy's real name is Dean Ambrose."

Peter tilted his head slightly, but neither frowned nor smiled. "Sefa, I think you need to start at the beginning."

Sefa did, telling him about how his boys had brought him home and how the kid hadn't remembered his own name, so they had come up with the name Jon Moxley. "He likes to be called Mox," Sefa said. "And everyone calls him Mox, except my wife, she calls him Jon. Well, she and her mother, Gavriella do. You know how mothers can be."

Peter nodded but said nothing, letting Sefa continue. Sefa did, telling him how Mox loved wrestling and how he worked at the camp. He told Peter that they had gotten him onto the system as a John Doe kid, so they could get him the help he needed, medically.

"If we could have put him on our policy, we would have," Sefa said. "But we had no proof he was ours, so we got him made a ward of the state of Florida and we became his foster family. Although, to be honest, if we could have, we'd probably have adopted him by now."

He further told him what he knew about Mox's past before they found him. How he had been held captive by Dennis and Simon, and how they had come back for him. He told Peter everything he could think of that he thought Peter would deem important, finishing up with how Dennis had shot Simon, had been arrested, and told the Sheriff that the boy he and Simon had called Timmy, was really Dean Ambrose and that he'd been kidnapped in Cincinnati. He finished his talk by showing Peter pictures of Mox, dating from shortly after they found him until now. Letting Peter see the scars on his back and how skinny the kid was when they got him and how healthy he looked now. "They only let him eat every other day and made him shave all the hair off his body. They were trying to keep him looking younger than his age."

Peter listened intently, only interrupting once, to as Sefa if he wanted a bottle of water, which Sefa gratefully accepted and sipped as he talked. When Sefa gave him the pictures, he looked at them carefully. "I think you found him," he finally said. He pulled his wallet out from his back pocket and flipped it around until he found what he wanted, then showed it to Sefa. It was one of those family pictures, husband, wife, two kids, a boy and a girl who looked to be a few year younger than Lance, which would make them six. or maybe seven. They looked close enough in age that Sefa wondered if they were twins. The mother and both children shared several features with Mox. The mother had the same colored hair, somewhere between brown and strawberry blonde, as well as the daughter. The son's hair was darker, safely in the brunette category, much closer to the color of his father's hair, but had a similar nose and mouth to Mox. If you had thrown Mox into that picture, everyone would have thought he was the oldest child.

Sefa's last hope that this was all a mistake and Dennis have given the wrong name, vanished. Mox was Dean. "Is this his family?" They looked like good people, not at all like the mother Mox remembered so vaguely, the one he believed sold him. "And why do you carry around a picture of them?"

Peter smiled and pointed to the husband. "That's my brother, Jacob. He married Donna Ambrose a little over seven years ago. Believe it or not, the twins were born on their first anniversary. Needless to say, October fourteenth is a _very_ important day to them."

"What are their names?" Sefa asked.

"Amber and Zachary," Peter said. "And yes, we have joked about the kids being A to Z. But, I don't think that was deliberate."

"Uhm… Mox, well, I guess I should call him Dean, he doesn't remember much about before he was kidnapped," Seth said, "but the few memories he does have… well, they don't seem to match this picture. These folks look like a happy family. Mox, I mean, Dean, has vague memories that could indicate his mother was a heavy drug user. His kidnappers told him that his mother had sold him to them, and he was pretty fast to believe it. I know a kid that age doesn't know everything, but -"

"-He had it pretty close," Peter interrupted. "Donna _is_ a drug addict, but she's a _recovering_ drug addict. And she was prostitute for that matter. But Dean going missing was her come-to-Jesus moment, so to speak. I had just become a detective, and Dean Ambrose was my first assignment. She reported him missing and I went to their apartment." He motioned towards the way of the projects. "It was in the worst area of the projects. And the moment I met Donna I knew she was a user. She was sniffling and picking at her skin, all the signs. When I confronted her about it, she admitted it to me, and then she admitted that Dean had disappeared five days ago, but she had been so trashed she didn't dare call the cops. She was hoping he had run away to a friends house and was safe. She ended up getting rid of her 'friends' that were always sleeping at her place, and cleaned out all evidence of drugs, cleaned up the place, and then went cold turkey. She was sicker than a dog for three days, but the moment she was able to function without shaking and puking, she called us."

Sefa nodded, slowly.

"I told her that we were going to do everything we could to find her boy, but if we found him? We wouldn't give him to her until we were sure she was clean. He would go right into foster care," Peter continued. "She cried and said that she desperately wanted to get high, but a stronger part of her wanted her boy back. That's when I told her that we'd do what we could to find him, but if she wanted custody of him that she had to go to the rehab clinic. I knew people in there, I told her I could get her in. She was terrified that if we found Dean while she was in rehab, she'd never get him back. I told her that if we found him while she was in rehab, that my wife and I would be his foster parents and that as long as she stayed clean and sober, I would do everything in my power to make sure she got her boy back. She took this very seriously and I took her to the rehab clinic myself, that very afternoon. And she stuck with it. She was there for six weeks and I visited her on my days off."

"Is that how she met your brother?" Sefa asked.

Peter shook his head. "That came later. When she got out of rehab, we couldn't find room for her in a halfway house, so she moved into my house with my wife and I. And I could tell she really wanted to stay clean. She went to NA and AA meetings every day, sometimes more than once. She got a job as a waitress at a diner, but she also started going to classes to become a certified nurses assistant. My brother works as an English teacher at the Smithfield school for boys. He met Donna while she was living with us, and when she got her CNA license, he told her the school was looking for someone to help out in the nurse's office and who wouldn't mind spending nights there sometimes, if there were boys who were sick enough to not be in their rooms, but not sick enough to go to the hospital. She got the job and quit waitressing. As it turned out, there was a little bedroom off of the Nurse's office and nobody minded much if she wanted to spend every night there, so she moved in. She and my brother became friends, he used to stop at the local McDonald's every morning for an egg McMuffin and coffee and started bringing her one, too. I think they would have started dating sooner, but Donna was busy. She lived with the hope that Dean would be found, and she was determined that when he came back to her, that she would give him the type of life she should have been giving him. She kept going to school until she became an RN, and ended up getting a job as the full time nurse of the school. And, she continued to live in the tiny bedroom, so she could save money and go to school. Her life was working, school, studying, sleeping, and eating, and whenever possible, she tried to combine two or more of those activities. She had no time for dating."

Peter had come around from behind the desk after giving Sefa a bottle of water, and instead of returning, was sitting on the edge of his desk, which made the conversation seem a little less intimidating. "The Smithfield school for boys… well, it's a school for troubled kids. Think of a place that kids go when they aren't quite good enough to fit into the foster system, but not quite bad enough to put in a juvie."

Sefa nodded. His friend and the Sheriff Aaron's wife, Sarah had worked at such a school in Florida. "I'll bet part of her wondered if Dean would end up there?"

"I think so," Peter admitted. "But, she also _likes_ working there, like my brother does. I'm not saying it's fun for either of them, but they _do_ know how to handle themselves and most of the boys. The state realizes that and they do what they can to keep folks like them. They helped pay for a lot of her schooling and I think as the years went by and Dean stayed gone, she comforted herself with the idea that she was helping kids. She couldn't help her son, but she could help these boys. Even after she and my brother married and the twins were born, she kept working at the school. She doesn't live there anymore, of course, but she and my brother bought a house close to there. Now that the twins are older and in school, she's back to being in charge of the medical care for the kids. With two kids of her own, she doesn't have much time at all anymore, but she's determined to become a Nurse Practitioner, even if it takes her until the twins are graduating from college."

"Are you usually this involved in the lives of the families of missing children?" Sefa asked. "I get that she's married to your brother, so she's family now, but before that, you offered to be Dean's foster parents, you let her move in with you after rehab. That doesn't sound normal."

Peter shrugged. "I admired her, in a way. Not for being a drug addict and prostitute, but because she was brave enough to cut all ties and go cold on a bad heroin habit alone. She always owned her mistakes, too. She never tried to come up with excuses. You'd be amazed at how many times I've dealt with parents who can always justify why they do drugs and why they go back to them. I get it, it's hard to give it up once you ride the white horse, but she _did_. And it didn't take her several times of rehab. She had a habit for years and she gave it up once fell off the wagon once, the second time she gave it up for good."

"Let me guess," Sefa interrupted. "The first time she gave it up was when she found out she was pregnant."

Peter nodded. "She told me she was so grateful that Dean was normal when he was born, that he wasn't handicapped or having to kick a drug habit, that she didn't touch anything harder than water for two years."

 _Breastfeeding,_ Sefa thought. _Maybe not for two years, but I'm sure that's why she was able to stay sober for so long, she was breastfeeding._ "Then let me guess, she just tried it once again, and the next thing she knew it, she was more addicted than the first go-round."

Peter nodded. "But the second time she quit? As far as I know, she has never shot up since. I don't think she's even had a drink of alcohol or taken a hit off a joint. She quit smoking cigarettes when she and my brother got married, because they both wanted to have kids right away." Peter shifted slightly on his seat and adjusted his pants where they had bunched up behind his knee. "Sefa, I have to ask you something. It sounds like you and your family realized pretty fast that Dean was a kidnap victim. But it doesn't sound like you made much of an effort to find out if someone was looking for him. I know it hasn't been that long since you found him, or he found you, but still, I've had Dean registered with all the missing children sites. Why didn't you try to find out where he belonged?"

Sefa sighed deeply. "Bust me if you have to," he finally said. "But _you_ weren't there. When we first got the kid, he was messed up. He thought his kidnappers put a bomb in him and that as long as they were close enough, they could press a button and he'd blow up along with anyone and everything in a hundred foot radius. Yeah, it sounds outrageous, but he was a little kid when they told him. And they put a needle in his neck and told him they were putting the bomb in there. And that's just part of it. His so-called 'father,' Dennis, told the kid that he had legally adopted him. And told him that his mother had sold him. We found all of this out in the first twenty four hours the kid stayed with us. He wanted to run off to save us from being blown up. He had a sprained ankle and he was trying to run away on crutches. He was suspicious with good reason, the only people he had any interaction with most of his life had done nothing but lie to him. But he _trusted_ us, despite all he had been through. And I know why."

"Oh?"

"Wrestling." Sefa said. "I teach wrestling. And call it God, fate, or just dumb luck, wrestling is something the kid loved, that he was _allowed_ to love. He knew there would come a day when he'd be too old to these guys. But, about the only fantasy he allowed himself was that _maybe_ they would let him go when he was too old, and he could become a professional wrestler. And then who finds him when he runs away? The three sons of a retired professional wrestler who _teaches_ wrestling. Where do they take him? To the house, where the school is located. Because my wife, Jen, she's great at first aid, so my boys realized that if the kid wouldn't go to the hospital, their mother was the next best thing."

Peter nodded, but said nothing, allowing Sefa to continue.

"If this were fiction, I'd be half tempted to throw the book across the room, or change the channel and roll my eyes, thinking this was a little too perfect, but this isn't a book, this is life and this is how it worked out. The kid ended up in a wrestling school. He ended up with us, and we were the right people for him. My wife Jen, she's got a huge heart and Mox walked right in. My middle kid, Roman, he and Mox are about the same age. They got along from the beginning and they still do. I mean, they get into fights and arguments, all brothers do, but they forgive each other just as fast. My youngest son, Lance… he's not just a smart kid, he's a brilliant kid. And he and Mox get along really well. Lance _is_ brilliant, but he's still a nine-going-on-ten year old boy, and he has smarts, but not wisdom. He sometimes doesn't know when he should put a sock in it, and that can piss people off. Not Mox. Lance has been helping M-" Sefa paused, realizing he kept referring to him as Mox. "I'm sorry, I just have trouble remembering his real name is Dean. I'm afraid he's not going to be happy with that, either. He loves being Mox."

"It's okay," Peter said. "To you, he is Mox so just go with it."

"Lance is helping Mox study to get his GED," Sefa continued. "Yes, we could send him to high school, but again, we're worried that will upset the balance."

"Balance?"

Sefa nodded. "Again, call it fate, God, whatever, but I think that Mox being with us is the best thing for Mox. I think if he ended up with someone who tried to push him into being a normal sixteen year old, he'd rebel. He's smart, he _could_ go to high school, Lance says he's catching up with his online schooling really fast. But what motivates him to study is that schoolwork comes _before_ he's allowed to work at the camp. Before he's allowed to be trained in _wrestling._ He doesn't push that issue, either. That's how serious he is. Jen and I worry that if he didn't have wrestling, he'd end up falling apart. He wouldn't have direction and focus. He told Roman that he used to do a lot of drugs when he was younger. Apparently, his kidnappers didn't care if he drank, snorted cocaine, tossed pills, smoked pot, whatever. And I'm not stupid, I know if Mox wanted to find drugs he would, he doesn't have to go to High School for that. But we've explained to him that all those things are really bad for a wrestler. That considering his past, all the abuse he suffered, to continue to do drugs will ruin him for wrestling. So, he doesn't do any drugs. I think if you told him that wrestlers needed to be able to burp the Star Spangled Banner backwards, in Latin, he'd learn how to do it. After all those years of living with people like that, the kid is in a place where he can trust us, and we love him. When we first got him, I told him the rule was that his body was his own and no one could touch him without permission. We had to make that rule or I think he would have freaked. And at the beginning, that rule was law or he got upset. Well, then Christmas came and in that short of a time, he'd grown to trust us enough that when my wife's Mom, forgetting the rules, just hugged him, he didn't freak out. He didn't like it, but he didn't freak out. Now, the family can touch him and he's fine with it, but only the immediate family. So, he might be Donna Ambrose-Miller's child, but he _belongs_ with us."

"Is that why you're here?" Peter asked. "To tell Donna that her son is alive but she should _forget_ him? That she should pretend he doesn't exist and give custody to you?"

Peter's tone was mild, but Sefa still heard the subtle disbelief in it. "No," he said, shaking his head. "We want Mox and his mother to get to know each other. And, I guess the rest of the family too. I think Mox won't mind the idea of having younger brothers and sisters. But he's sixteen, he's not a baby anymore. I don't think it will do Mox, or anyone any good to just to have him go back to his mother, a woman that he believed, until recently had _sold_ him."

"So, what are you going to try to get Donna to agree to?"

Sefa bit his lip and drew in a breath before continuing. "We're going to try to convince her to let us keep Mox. He's sixteen, he's at an age where a judge would take his opinion seriously. He's almost old enough to be tried as an adult if he commits a crime. He's not going to be able to come home and be her little boy again. And that sucks, and if I could turn back time so he'd never been taken, I would, but I can't, and she can't either. We think the best thing for Mox is to stay with us, and get to know her and her family at his own pace. We won't do anything to prevent them from communicating, in fact, we'll do anything we can to encourage it. We'll be happy to let his family visit us so they can spend time with Mox, if Mox ever wants to visit them here, we'll make sure he gets here."

Peter sighed. "God, this isn't easy," he finally said. "I can see both sides. I can see why you want him to stay with you, and you're right, he's not a little boy. But Donna, and later Jacob, they have hoped and prayed for him to be found alive. Yes, they have two children, but as any parent knows, you can't replace a child."

"I know," Sefa said, thinking of his own sons.

"To be honest? I've been convinced Dean was dead and we just hadn't found the body," Peter admitted. "Every time we heard about a child's body being found, I thought that soon enough, I would have to make the visit I dreaded. To let my brother and Donna know, that yeah, Dean was coming home, but in a box."

"So, what do you think you'll be doing instead?" Sefa asked, looking at Peter with an intense expression."

"I think I want you to give me the name of the Sheriff you're buddies with. Maybe the number of someone else that can check out the story you've told me and vouch for your character."

"And if it does check out?" Sefa asked.

"Then we'll be going to see Donna and Jacob to tell her Dean is alive, but that it might be in his best interests to let him stay with the family that rescued him." Pete closed his eyes and shook his head sadly.

"We didn't rescue him," Sefa said. "He rescued himself by escaping."

"You rescued him," Peter disagreed. "Sometimes rescuing doesn't involve breaking down a door. Sometimes it involves opening one instead." Peter rubbed his eyes now, looking suddenly tired. "Why don't you give me those references, Sefa, and then go get some coffee or a bite to eat. There's a diner not far that makes fantastic hash-browns. And it's in a safe enough area. You can give me your cell phone number and wait for me to contact you."

Sefa nodded, as he flipped through his wallet. He found one of Aaron's business cards with the number of the station on it. He flipped it over and wrote on it, and handed it to Peter. "The first number on the back is Aaron's home number. Try the station first, he's a horrible workaholic, but with him having visited us last night, his wife might have been a little insistent that he takes the day off. The numbers below that? One is for Father Steffon. He's the principal for the school Roman attends, and he's our friend too. The other is for Ms. Clarke, she's Mox's social worker. It's her cell phone. Below that is the number for Doctor Benson Proctor. He can verify the medical care Mox has been getting and what shape he was in when we found him. Again, he's a friend of ours as well, so that's his cell phone number. The final number is the number of Mox's talk therapist. That's his emergency line. know he's seeing Mox today at One because of what happened yesterday, but he should be available after that."

"I think that's enough numbers," Peter said, a faint smile playing at his lips.

"Are you sure?" Sefa asked, the corners of his own mouth turning up. "Because I could give you Dr. Ben's number too."

"Who's Dr. Ben?"

"The veterinarian for my youngest son's cat. Also a family friend as well."

"No, I think the numbers you gave me are fine." There was no mistaking the smile on Peter's face now.

And my cell phone number is on there too, so when you're done, you can call me. Give me directions to the restaurant you were talking about. I'll go there. But I'll have my phone on me, when you're done with the checking you need to do, call me."

"I will," Peter said.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**: Thank you to everyone who read this. Double to anyone who Followed/Favored it. Triple if you took the time to privately message me or publicly review this story. Even if we disagreed on things, and even if I refused to back down on my feelings, it doesn't mean I didn't appreciate the feed back. In fact, in most cases it told me I needed to work harder to make sure my readers understood my motives. So, yes, keep it coming. And no, I will never tell anyone if you private message me with concerns. There are a couple readers that should know that by now.

I promise, in the next chapter, we will meet Dean's mother. But at least now, you know a little bit more about her.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Warning** : There's a bit of crude language coming up in this chapter. I thought about editing it, but I want to keep to how I feel the character would actually talk, not sanitize his speech._

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

 _{o}-{o}-{o}_

"Well," Charles said, as he and Mox sat down in his office, Mox on the sofa, Charles in a comfortable chair. "You had quite a day yesterday, didn't you?"

Mox stared at the guy. Charles Harvey, still in college, but doing intern work for his degree. And, Mox's talk therapist. Mox hadn't even _wanted_ a talk therapist, but Jen, Sefa, and his social worker had told him he was going to have one whether he wanted it or not. "It wasn't as big a day as I hoped it would be."

"What do you mean?" Charles asked.

That got to Mox. The guy was _always_ asking him to define what he meant. If Mox said he was having an okay day, rather than just accept it, Charles wanted to know why his day was merely okay. Was it on the good side of okay or the bad side of okay? Straight down the middle okay? _"Let's expand on that…"_ Mox _hated_ it. He knew what Charles Harvey was supposed to do, he was supposed to get him to open up about his past, to tell Charles _everything_. All about being kidnapped, about all the things he'd been forced to do when he was kidnapped, all that he had done because he knew if he _didn't_ do it, life would get very, _very_ bad for him.

Mox didn't _want_ to talk about his past. Especially now, seeing that his kidnapper was in jail, and his kidnapper's partner was dead. It was over now. "The match I was supposed to have with Roman. I was supposed to get the belt last night, but I didn't. I'm really disappointed with that. I worked _really_ hard to get to this point." The look he gave Charles was dead serious, but inwardly he was smirking a bit.

But, if he expected to ruffle Charles's feathers, he failed. Charles merely nodded. Charles was an expert at nodding, Charles could be a model for a bobble head he nodded so well. "When you called me yesterday, you seemed to have other things you were more concerned about."

"That's because I didn't know the match had been cancelled then." Mox studied Charles carefully, thinking maybe, just _maybe_ , he saw a slight flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "If I _had_ known, I would have pissed and moaned about that. I might have even _bitched."_

"Jon-"

"Mox." That was something he had insisted on day one with Charles he _had_ to call him Mox. As it was, Mox should have ignored him until Charles realized the mistake on his own and corrected himself, but Mox usually gave him one chance at every session.

"All right," Charles said, " _Mox_ , you _know_ you didn't call me yesterday about the match being cancelled."

"Of course I didn't," Mox said. "Because I didn't _know_ then."

"So, what happened that made you call me, earlier."

"Not what, _who,_ " Mox said. " _Mom_ , made me call you."

"And why did she want you to talk to me?" Charles asked, then looked at Mox. "Maybe I should remind you, it's Sunday and I have no other patients. I came here just for you, and we can spend _all_ afternoon here. All evening too, if it comes down to it. I have nowhere to go."

"I could just get up and leave," Mox countered. It was always a _game_ between the two of them. Who could one up who? _Emotional tug of war._

"And, I would tell your mother that you walked out." Charles looked as bland as a bowl of vanilla pudding. "Do you think _that_ will bother her?"

 _Damn, he's got me on that one._ "Okay, my… Fa- I mean, Dennis's friend Sam, I mean, Simon was killed. By Dennis, who is now in jail. The End."

"Any more than that?"

They had gone over this _yesterday_ , why did they have to rehash it? "Dennis and Simon were the guys that kidnapped me. And Simon handed Dennis the gun, because he wanted Dennis to kill me, but Dennis killed him instead." Mox hoped his voice was a complete monotone. "But he didn't kill me, which is pretty obvious, because I'm talking to you."

"Why do you think Dennis spared your life?"

Mox frowned. "I have no idea," he said. "He claimed it was because he loved me, but that's weird, considering he never told me he loved me when he had me for all those years." _All those years, even the times when I did everything he said without argument._

"Did you _want_ him to tell you he loved you?"

He wanted to hit Charles. Punch him so hard in the face that his contact lenses would pop out of his eyes. "No. I didn't," he said, with complete confidence. _Timmy_ had wanted Dennis to love him. But he wasn't Timmy anymore, he was _Mox_ , and Mox didn't need or want Dennis's love. Mox _had_ people who loved him. And he _really_ didn't like Charles suggesting that any part of Mox would want or need such twisted love.

* * *

"Mom, _Mom!_ Where are you, Mom? I need to talk to you!"

Donna Miller looked up from the kitchen island where she had her books and her laptop and sighed. "Amber, I'm in the kitchen!" She loved her kids to dearly, but you would think that by now, they would have figured out that Sunday afternoons, she was in the kitchen, trying to study. On Sunday afternoon, Jacob was supposed to watch the kids. She gave him time to work on his book during the week, and Saturdays, if she could get them off, and she was supposed to get her child free Sunday afternoons.

Amber came running into the kitchen. It had rained the day before and she tracked in little muddy footprints from the hall to the kitchen. "Mom! We ran into Britney in the park!"

Donna tried not to stare at the footprints in dismay, and instead focused her attention on her daughter. "How nice," she remarked. Britney and her family had moved across the street, and in the fashion of little girls, she and Amber had become fast friends in minutes. Fortunately, Donna and Jacob both liked Britney and her parents as well.

"They're going to _Twist and Shout_ , and they invited me along! Dad says it's fine as long as you don't mind!"

 _Twist and Shout_ was a giant indoor playground that was once one of those big box hardware places. Now it contained trampolines, older video games, swings, slides, Skee-ball, ball pits, an indoor miniature golf course, a bumper car area, lots of loud pop music feeding in a steady stream through the loudspeakers, and absolutely _terrible_ pizza, hot dogs, and soda. Kids were encouraged to use their outdoor voices and to run and play and have fun, so naturally, most kids adored the place. "Your dad _really_ said it was okay?" she asked.

"Yes!" Amber was jumping up and down in excitement. "Please can I go? Please? _Pretty_ please? I'll never ask you for anything else _again,_ just _please_ let me go!"

 _If I say yes, in five minutes you're going to ask me for money,_ Donna thought but didn't say. As she was about to answer, she heard the door open and Jacob coming in, calling out to their daughter, reminding her that she was supposed to have waited for him and Zachary to catch up before going inside, and why, for heaven's sake, hadn't she wiped her feet? Didn't she realize that she was tracking mud all through the house?

He looked contrite when he came into the kitchen with Zach, knowing that the Sunday afternoon agreement had been violated. The hangdog look, made Donna forgive him instantly. It wasn't his fault that Amber went into hyper-drive at the mere mention of _Twist and Shout_. "If you want to say she can't go, I understand," he said, with a look to the muddy floor. "But, if you want, I'll clean up this mess while she changes into something clean and dry, and then while she goes to _Twist and Shout_ , I'll take Zach out for the afternoon."

She looked at Zach, knowing Britney's parents would not have asked Amber without asking him, too. "Don't you want to go along with your sister?"

Zach shook his head. "Dad said we could go to the Children's museum and then get pizza. I'd rather do that."

Donna wasn't sure if it was more of the Children's Museum, or just getting quality one-on-one time with his dad, probably a combination of both. Zach was the quieter of the two, the one who loved to read and honestly liked school, because he liked learning things. He was smart, and much like his father, he was also calm and steady. His teacher had told them at the last Parent/Teacher night that wished she had a whole classroom like him. Amber was the active one, the one that couldn't sit still, the one who wanted to run and play all day. The one that was always called first to be on a team for kickball. Jacob called her his little humming bird, because she zoomed from one thing to another. "Well, if you willing to clean up the floor, then I'm fine with it."

While Amber jumped up and down cheering, and spattering more mud from her shoes, Jacob leaned over and kissed the top of Donna's head, then looked at Amber. "Take those sneakers off, right now, and put them in the garage. Then, go, wash up and change. Zach, you don't have to change, but you should at least wash your hands."

"I was going to wash my hands," Zach protested. "You don't have to remind me, I'm not a _baby."_

 _Oh, yes you are,_ Donna thought. _You're not that much older than he was when Dean disappeared._

Everyone had told her that when she had other children it would "help" her get over _it._ As if it would be a good thing for her to just stop thinking about _it._ Well, it didn't work, and she didn't _want_ it to work. She loved Amber and Zach, two miracles that were born out of her body, the living proof of the love she and Jacob shared, but that didn't mean there wasn't a hole in her heart. A hole where _Dean_ was supposed to be. Dean, who hadn't been born of love, but the results of a very high and drunk one night stand. She was using when she got pregnant, but she wasn't at the point where she had to sell her body to get drug money, Dean's father had just been a guy she met in a bar. He was cute enough, with some pretty killer horse on him, and she was young and had an okay sort of office job and was sharing an apartment with a couple other girls. She thought she had a handle on her drug usage, but after that one night stand left her pregnant and she had to get off the drugs, she realized she didn't have as much of a handle as she thought.

But, Dean had been worth it. She remembered when he was born, all bloody, red, and screaming, no doubt indignant of being taken out of of her cozy womb and thrust into a world of light. She had burst into tears when she heard that wail, because no matter how much he had kicked and moved inside her, she was convinced he would be stillborn, or strangled by his own umbilical cord, or a million other horrible things, her punishment for having been on drugs when he was conceived. Even after, when the doctors told her he scored a seven on the one minute, and eight on the five minute Apgar test, she'd _still_ been anxious and kept asking the doctors and nurses over and over if Dean was all right. If he truly _was_ healthy. Those three days she spent at the hospital, he stayed in her room with her, and every time he cried, she was scared it was because he was kicking a drug habit he'd gotten in womb. For the first _year_ , every time he cried without a valid reason, she was convinced he was suffering withdrawal. His pediatrician spent most of his time at their appointments, calming her down, explaining that sometimes babies just cried and it was nothing to worry about.

With all that paranoia, you would have thought she would have stayed away from drugs forever, but unfortunately, a friend of hers, Kelly, came back into her life. Kelly had given Donna her first taste of the needle and Kelly gave Donna her second taste too. Not that Donna blamed her, she was a willing participant. Naive and stupid enough to think she could just do it "Once more" and that would be fine. Once more lead to Once in Awhile, lead to Every Weekend, lead to Every Day, lead to Several Times a Day in a short time. She was on public assistance, but that wasn't enough to support a drug habit, so Kelly had shown her how she supported _her_ drug habit and taught Donna the ropes. Donna's life spiraled out of control, and she didn't even realize it was happening until it seemed too late.

She hadn't stopped loving Dean, but she was aware that a drug addict was not a good parent. She nodded off more than once when she should have been watching him, waking up to find him in some sort-of mess, or sitting in a soggy, filthy, diaper, screaming his head off. She knew she had to stop, and every night she had gone to bed thinking how this would be the last night. Tomorrow she would clean up. She would go to the free clinic and see if they could arrange some outpatient rehab. She told herself that every night would be the last, even as she sneaked out the door, to work the streets for more drug money.

Tomorrow never came, and her parenting skills slipped more with every shot she took. Every time she twisted that piece of rubber around her upper arm and clenched her fist, or, later, injected in her leg, and eventually between her toes, her ability to be a good mother took another dive. She grew impatient with Dean, finding herself yelling at him at the slightest infraction, like dropping cups or refusing to eat what she served for dinner. She didn't bathe him enough, and he learned to take a bath by himself, which meant that sometimes the water overflowed the tub and she screamed at him over that. Clothes went unwashed, sheets unchanged, and it was _always_ tomorrow. _Tomorrow_ she would be a better mom. She thought she always had another tomorrow.

Then, he vanished.

Over ten years later, he had not come home. And while her brother-in-law Peter didn't say it, she knew he had pretty much written Dean off as dead. She knew Jacob did too, even though he never said anything to her. Peter still kept Dean's information in the databases, and every year, when new students came to the Springfield School, Donna carefully looked at them to see if any of them were her Dean, just in case.

When time had passed, and Dean was not found, she sometimes found herself wishing they _would_ find a body, so she could bury him and just know. She always felt horrible for having those thoughts. She _should_ be hoping instead, that maybe someone who knew how bad of a mother she was had taken him, and raised him as their own, with a good home and all the love he deserved.

The later was a pipe dream, but it was better than wishing his body would be found. She wanted _him_ to be found. She wanted him to have been put in a stasis field and magically stayed five years old until he could be found and brought back to her, so she could be the mother he deserved, the mother she was to Amber and Zach.

Not a day went by where she didn't remember Dean. Where she didn't pray silently to a God she wasn't sure heard her, that wherever he was, he was safe and cared for. And that if he _was_ gone, that this same God had him in his arms.

She and Jacob could have more children and someday they might. She could have all her kids at the school, the ones that touched her heart, she could have a whole _life_ filled with children, but it wouldn't make her miss Dean any less. If anything, it made her miss him more. As if the more children that filled her heart, the more obvious the Dean shaped hole became.

She didn't talk about it out loud, not even to Jacob anymore, because nobody knew what to say. What _could_ they say? She had gone for counseling, both for her drug addiction and for helping her with Dean's disappearance. She had talked herself blue, and while it might have helped a bit, it never filled that Dean shaped hole. So, she didn't talk about it anymore. She just kept her thinking internal, wondering if he would be more like Amber, always on the run? Or quieter like Zachary? Somewhere in the middle? Did he still have that weird quirk where he drummed his fingers on his collarbone when he was stressed? She had never seen anyone else do that, had he had come up with it on his own? Maybe Mr. Cute Guy with the good heroin did that when he was stressed? She didn't think she had seen him do that, so she liked to think it was something unique to Dean.

She watched as patient, loving, Jacob cleaned up the floor and hallway of Amber's muddy footprints, even pulling out the Swiffer to wash it all again when he was done. As he was finishing, Amber came dancing into the kitchen. She had changed into a pair of jeans with rainbows and gold stars on the back pockets and a yellow shirt with a unicorn on it. Least you think she was a little _too_ girly, with the unicorn shirt, the unicorn had wisps of fire from its nostrils. A rainbow colored mane, sure, but it was a _badass_ unicorn who breathed fire, too.

With a flurry of hugs, and money given so she could play games and buy herself food, Amber bounded out of the house and across the street. Zach and Jacob left last, more kisses, more hugs, declarations of love and promises to see her later. It seemed that for twenty minutes the house had been humming with life and now it was quiet.

She heard Britney's family, drive off in their minivan that made a weird sort-of misfire noise. Then, she heard the Corolla Jacob used, the one that had been an older car when they met, but still going. They had a more gently used Minivan, but the Corolla was good when it was just two of them.

She had just heard the Corolla drive out of hearing range when the house phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and saw it was Peter. Thinking he was calling to talk to his brother, she picked up the phone and spoke first. "Hey Pete, you just missed Jacob. He and Zach were headed to the Children's Museum, but he's got his cell phone on him so-"

"-It's okay, I didn't call to talk to him," Peter interrupted. His voice sounded all business. "I called to talk to you."

"Is everything all right?" Donna asked, "Is Molly all right?" Molly was Peter's wife.

"Molly is great, and she was asking how you were doing."

"I'll email her," Donna said, relieved to hear a little bit of the "business only" tone drain from Peter. She had been rather busy lately, and hadn't had a chance to have one of those long conversations she and Molly usually had about once a week. Summer was coming soon, and since Donna usually took Summers off for the kids she usually had more time to rekindled things with the woman she saw as a sister.

"Good, she's been hoping you're all right." Peter paused and then said, "Are you alone, Donna?"

"Yes," Donna said, "It's Sunday afternoon, you know the deal Jacob and I have."

"Would you mind some company for part of the afternoon? I'd like to drop by."

"Sure," Donna said, getting more and more puzzled by the minute. "What going on, Peter?"

"It's something I'd much rather discuss in person. I'll be by in a bit."

Before Donna could question him further, Pete hung up. Donna wasn't upset by this. Both Peter and Molly were the only family she had outside of Jacob and the kids, but Pete could be business like at times. Donna put it down to being in Law Enforcement.

A tiny part of her wondered if this might have anything to do with Dean. But, every time Peter called, unless he asked for Jacob, Donna found herself both hoping and dreading it would be about Dean. It never was. _You'll know soon enough,_ she told herself.

* * *

Mox was pacing the office. Before every session, he told himself this would be the time he didn't screw up, he wouldn't get upset, he would be calm and he would just sit on the sofa, not having to pace the floor. This would be the time he never showed any signs of stress.

And every session, he ended up pacing the floor of the office, drumming his fingers on his collarbone.

"Mox, are you okay?" Charles asked him.

"Yeah, I'm swell," he said, forcing his voice to stay in control.

"You don't look 'swell' from where I'm sitting," Charles pointed out. "I was asking you how you felt about Simon being killed by Dennis. From everything you've told me, Simon and Dennis were close."

"I never said _anything_ about their relationship," Mox said, pausing for a moment from his pacing and his finger drumming, looking at Charles.

"Well, maybe you haven't specifically said it, but from what you _have_ said, it is obvious the two of them were close. And you did tell me that Dennis said he had killed his best friend for _you_. That has to make you feel _something."_

Mox resumed his pacing. "I feel _awesome_ that some pervert is off the streets forever and I hope we can say the same thing about Dennis. I don't know if he'll fry for killing Simon, but hopefully, he'll at least never take another kid."

"That sounds like the answer you'd give a reporter or the cops," Charles said. "An answer everyone expects. I think you're feeling more than that."

"Nope."

It was a standoff. Mox paced again and Charles just sat there in his polo shirt, legs crossed, his notepad resting on his jeans. That was different, Mox realized. Usually Charles wore dress slacks, with a heavy crease running down them. He was also wearing sneakers too, instead of dress shoes.

"You're looking all casual today," Mox said. "Am I keeping you from hanging out with your buddies? Or your partner? Interrupting your weekly game of touch football in the park?"

"Nope," Charles said, with a faint smile. "I'm clear for the day."

"But it's Sunday afternoon," Mox said. "What, don't you have any friends or a partner to hang with?"

"We're not here to talk about _me_ , we're here to talk about _you,_ " Charles reminded him, as if he needed to be reminded. "How do you feel about the fact that Dennis killed his best friend instead of killing you?"

 _Time for evasive action,_ Mox thought. Mention something else, a tidbit from Timmy's life that would be interesting enough to get Charles to change directions. Sometimes it worked, but most times it didn't. If he had a chance today, it had better be one _juicy_ tidbit. "Did you know that a hummer and a blowjob are not the same thing?" he said, trying to make it seem as if he blurted this out, not meaning to.

"Mox," Charles said, looking at him.

"They're _similar_ but they aren't the same," Mox continued as if Charles hadn't said anything. "Both of them are sucking dick, but a blowjob is _just_ sucking dick. A hummer is when you suck dick, but you _hum._ If you're good, you learn to just do one long, low, steady hum by breathing through your nose. Do it right, and your whole throat will vibrate. That will get most guys to blow their load quickly. Since you _are_ sucking on their dick too, you might say that all hummers are blowjobs, but not all blowjobs are hummers. A hummer is a _specialized_ type of blowjob."

"Mox," Charles tried again. But Mox noted that he made a brief notation in his notebook, so Mox knew he'd scored something with the man.

"It's a good thing to know. Because if someone offers you a hummer, you might want to make sure they'll give you a hummer, not just a straight blowjob. Unless you prefer straight blowjobs. Some guys do, they like a little time to fuck your mouth. Those guys are usually hair grabbers, which can _really_ suck, because when they shoot off, they can make it hard to swallow it."

"Mox."

"Did you know that salt water can make you puke?" Mox continued. "It's true. Put enough salt in water and drink it down, and you'll barf it right back up, along with the rest of what's in your stomach."

" _Mox!"_

Mox paused and stared at Charles for just a second. "This is what you _really_ want, right? You want the real details from my life with them. You want the gory stuff, the gross stuff. Do you read the notes you wrote on me late at night and stroke yourself?"

"Mox," Charles's voice had gone back to being calm.

"Don't worry about it." Mox refused to let Charles get a foothold. "Were all wired to want to fuck. Keep the species going and all. But some folks wiring is all messed up and what gets _them_ off are little boys and girls . You know, kids too young to fight back."

"Mox," Charles raised his voice, trying to talk over him, "how do you feel about Dennis shooting Simon to save you?"

"Some guys _want_ you to fight it, they _love_ overpowering you," Mox found himself talking faster in an effort to drown Charles out, "But some guys wanted me to like it. Really, they want to convince themselves that it's okay to fuck kids, because deep down, the kids _like_ it. And if they do it right, the kid will _learn_ to want it. They really _believe_ this shit."

"How do you feel about Dennis shooting Simon, supposedly to save you?"

Mox was over by the window now, looking outside. The office building had a daycare on the first floor, and even though there was no daycare on Sunday, there was an empty playground of bright colored, tiny child sized swing sets, slides, and other things. A giant statue of a very friendly looking Giraffe stood guard over the playground, as if just waiting for the children to show up tomorrow. "A _lot_ of guys that like to fuck kids are good at hiding it. You'd never know it, they've got wives, girlfriends, kids of their own. Some of them might touch their own kids, but I think a lot of them, maybe _most_ of them don't. They keep that one life separate from their other life, their _normal_ life. They've probably even convince themselves that they aren't pedophiles, or gay or bisexual, even all they go after are little boys. As far as they're concerned, they're straight and not pedophiles. Even when some boy is on his knees, or even if he's so young, he doesn't need to be on his knees."

"How do you feel about Dennis shooting Simon, supposedly to save you?"

 _God, he's being a persistent fucker today,_ Mox thought. _I'm giving him gold, and he's just asking that same question over and over again._ "There are other types of blowjobs too," he said. His fingers, drumming along his collarbone were trembling slightly. There's even-"

" _How do you feel about Dennis shooting Simon, supposedly to save you?"_ Charles wasn't yelling, but his voice penetrated _everything_ , even the barrier of words Mox was trying to erect as fast as he could.

Mox spun around and looked at Charles. _"How am I **supposed** to feel?" _ He was screaming at him now, and it felt _good_. He'd lost the game to Charles, but he didn't care, it just felt so good to _scream_ at him. "Part of me is grateful that I wasn't killed and I _hate_ that! Part of me is _angry!_ Part of me wishes Dennis _had_ shot me, because then his whole 'I love you' bullshit would be just that, _bullshit!"_

Charles didn't smile, or give any indication that he'd won a victory, that he'd taken something from Mox. He only gave a slight nod of his head and said, " _Now_ we're getting somewhere."

* * *

 **Author's** ** Notes:** Sorry but not sorry for Mox's crude language. I just figured he would think that trying to freak out Charles would be a good way to have him stop questioning him. But, his talk therapist was smarter than Mox gave him credit for.

I know people want to know what is going to happen with Mox, and we're getting there. But, I thought it was important to check in and see how Mox was doing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** _I write letters. Letters that form words, words that become sentences, sentences that become paragraphs, paragraphs that become chapters, chapters that grow into stories. I also write fake disclaimers or other crap at the top of my stories to make them center better. Because I'm just weird like that._

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

 **.**

Donna barely registered when Jacob and Zach came back in the evening, bringing with them a personal sized pan pizza with sausage and pepperoni on it. Normally, she would have been grateful that they had brought her her very own pizza and hadn't just ordered an extra large and brought her a couple pieces. Both Zach and his father _loved_ olives on their pizza, and Donna couldn't _stand_ olives. They made the whole pizza taste like olives and left that horrible olive taste in her mouth for hours. But right now, they could have brought her a black and green olive pizza with an olive stuffed crust and she would not have cared.

"I'm sure Amber is getting more than enough to eat at Twist and Shout," Jacob said, as he put the box down in front of her. "And all of it horrible for her. But, I figured we'd bring you a pizza so you wouldn't have to make dinner for yourself."

Normally, Donna would have hugged and kissed the top of Zach's head. Then she would have hugged and then kissed Jacob on the lips, thanking them for their thoughtfulness. Normally, she would have insisted they sit down and tell her all about the Children's museum. But today, she couldn't focus. It was as if their voices were coming from far away, like a TV on softly in another room.

" _Donna!"_ Jacob's raised voice finally managed to bring her out of her thoughts. "Are you all right?"

She _wasn't_ all right. She was anything _but_ all right, Peter and Iosefa Reigns had made sure of that. And she wanted to talk to Jacob, alone, but that would be impossible until the kids were asleep. _Get it together,_ she ordered herself.

She looked at Jacob, forcing herself to smile and look as if nothing unusual was going on. "Sorry! I was just having a brain fart." She used the term "brain fart" deliberately, knowing it would make Zach giggle, which it did. She looked over at the kitchen clock, noting it was just past five thirty. _Two hours we'll be getting the kids to bed, two and a half hours, and the kids should be asleep or settling into sleep. Once they're down for the night, then you can talk to Jacob._

She heard the sounds of the door opening again, and Amber came rushing in, clutching a couple cheap stuffed animals she'd gotten from Twist and Shout, probably playing Skee-ball, a game she excelled at. "Mom! Dad! Look what I got!" She proudly showed her loot, a stuffed bear and puppy. Before anyone could say anything about the animals, she started prattling about her time at Twist and Shout, all the games she played, all the food she'd eaten, the music she'd heard, anything and everything else. Donna remembered one time when she went to the movies with Brittney and family, she had come home and talked excitedly about the toilet paper in the ladies room. "It wasn't on a roll, it was like folded stuff!"

Donna wasn't paying attention like she normally would, and she knew it. _I can't focus._ She forced herself to concentrate for a moment on her family, then smiled. "Well, since everyone but Mommy has eaten dinner already, how about we all watch a movie together before bedtime?"

Both kids squealed in delight and ran to the living room, where the TV and the movies were, each shouting out what movie they wanted to see. Zach was voting for _The Lion King_ , Amber for _102_ _Dalmatians_.

When the kids were safely out of earshot, Jacob looked at Donna. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She smiled again. "I-I'm okay. But after the kids are in bed, we need to talk."

"Okay," he said slowly. "Is this a good talk or a bad talk?"

 _That,_ Donna though, _is a_ very _good question._

* * *

"She said, _what?_ " Jen asked.

Sefa could hear Jen's hackles raising, even though she was trying to pretend she was calm. "She said she needed to talk to her husband and she would talk to me tomorrow." Sefa repeated. "I'm going to drop by the school she works at tomorrow afternoon and she'll give her answer then."

"Damn it," Jen muttered.

"Damn it," was about the closest Jen ever came to hard core swearing, so Sefa knew by those two simple words how upset she was. He understood, he felt the same way himself and when he was finally alone in the car, away from everyone, he'd let out his own string of curse words, a lot stronger than Jen's. "At least it wasn't a flat out, 'No, I want him back right now,'" Sefa pointed out.

"It also wasn't a 'You're right, I want what's best for Mox, and what is best for him is to stay with you,'" Jen countered.

"C'mon Jen, would that have been _your_ reaction if you found out your missing son was still alive?" Sefa asked her.

"No," Jen admitted, and let out a long sigh, as if she was trying to push all the frustration out of her. "But you _did_ point out to her that Mox was sixteen, and if things got ugly, he could go to court and likely be allowed to stay with us, didn't you?"

"Not _quite_ like that," Sefa said. It was evening, and Jen told him Roman, Lance, and Mox were in the gym, so they could talk freely. "I didn't want to come across as hostile. I told her how Mox was doing, how we felt about him, how he feels about us. I told him a little bit about his past, enough so she realizes what he's been through, and how much we believe if it wasn't for professional wrestling, he would likely be a lot worse off."

"I hope she _understands_ that," Jen said, her voice suggesting that more than hope, Donna had _better_ understand it. Exactly what consequences would be dealt to Donna if she didn't understand that were not made clear, but whatever they were, they would be dire.

"I think she does," Sefa said, _not_ telling her that Donna had done a quick search on her computer while they were there and found the name of a wrestling school in Cincinnati Mox could attend. He was fairly sure that would make Jen burst into tears, convinced they had lost him. "How did Roman react when you told him?"

"He was upset," Jen said, her voice implying that Sefa was stupid for asking. "He doesn't want to see Mox leave. And Lance, of course, suspects _something_ , considering that you went away after the mess yesterday, but I made him promise not to discuss this with Mox."

"Do you think he'll keep that promise?"

"I think he'll _try_ ," Jen said.

 _And that's about the best you can hope for when it comes to Lance._ Sefa thought. "How is Mox doing?"

"I think he might suspect your leaving has something to do with him," Jen admitted. "I think he's afraid to ask, though. I did get him to Charles today, and he was almost three hours with him. When he came out, he looked wiped out and I thought he might just come home and go to bed, but he ran the ropes for a couple hours."

"Mox therapy," Sefa said. Everyone in the family, everyone who worked at the academy knew by now that if Mox needed some time to think, he ran ropes. Sometimes Sefa wondered if those ropes were better for him than talk therapy, but he knew better than to say anything to Mox's social worker or Jen. _Is it really helpful, or is it just a bandage? Even worse, is it harmful, but it gives folks an easy excuse to feel better. 'We're taking him to therapy, what else do you want from us?'_ He would never express this viewpoint to Jen or Ms. Clarke, who looked at talk therapy as some medical miracle for whatever emotionally trying issues ailed you. _Aspirin for the Psyche. Talk to this guy for 50 minutes every week and call me if you get suicidal or homicidal ._ Maybe talk therapy was the aspirin to mental illness, but Sefa was pretty sure that to Mox, running ropes was the mental equivalent of applying ice and heat. "And now he's in the gym?"

"Yes," Jen said. "We ate about five and then Roman suggested the gym, and he was quick to agree. And of course Lance wanted to go along, because he's _Lance."_

Sefa smiled at the last remark. Jen was getting better at relaxing a bit with their youngest son, not being so overprotective. Not that he blamed her for being overprotective. Cancer had almost taken him from them, it was hard for her not to think that if she could just always watch him, he'd be safe. "Hey, count yourself lucky, it gave us a chance to talk privately." Sefa stretched out on the cheap motel bed, glad to be someplace for the night, even if his mind was still spinning, a mixture of fear, uncertainty, hope and despair, with a teaspoon of dismay tossed in for good measure. _The perfect nightmare recipe_.

Without being aware of it, he'd gone to Cincinnati hoping it would be clear cut that Mox belonged with them, hoping he would find Mox's mother to be unsuitable for the job. Instead he had _liked_ Donna Ambrose-Miller. She had struck him as honest and open. She spoke freely of her past and openly admitted she had not been a good mother when Dean was younger. She never cried, never said, "But" as in "But you have to remember, I was an addict!" in that way that insinuated she could not be blamed for any of her mistakes. Peter was right, she accepted her blame and made no excuses, and Sefa could respect that.

She also told him how she missed Dean. How a day hadn't gone by since he disappeared that she hadn't thought of him, hoped he was safe. She had cried when she found out he was alive, tears of joy and relief, but then cried in sorrow when Sefa told her about what he'd been through all those years. Sefa had no doubt that if she decided that she wanted Dean back, that she would do everything she could to get him back and once she did, do what was best for him, but Sefa still thought that if Mox came back here, he would get himself in trouble, even if he _could_ go to a wrestling school.

Sefa knew the place Donna had found on the internet was _Heartland Wrestling_ , and he knew Les Thatcher and Cody Hawk ran the place. _If Mox does have to live here, I_ will _talk to them and make sure they give him a job and let him spend as much time as he wants with them. Once they see how well he works, they'll be thrilled to have him If she gets him back, that's_ all _I'll be able to do._

"So," Sefa finally said, wanting to get off the subject of Mox. "Anything else exciting happen today?"

"Not rea-" Jen began, then stopped. "Oh, I almost forgot! Marc came up with cinnamon rolls. I wasn't able to make them this morning."

"Are you telling me _Marc_ made _cinnamon rolls?_ " Sefa couldn't believe that, not for a minute. Maybe Marc could make those ones that came in a tube that you just put in a pan and cooked, but Sefa was sure Marc wouldn't have even thought of that.

"No!" Jen exclaimed. "Noella made them."

"The girl that answered the door?"

The very same," Jen assured him.

Sefa remembered she had been a beautiful young woman with a graceful sensuality about her. He had known Marc was popular with women, but he was a little surprised Noella was in his league. No insult to Marc, but Sefa could see for himself that Noella was an exotic beauty. If she had wanted to go into wrestling, Sefa was sure he could get her into developmental in WWF right after graduating from the academy, a nearly impossible feat, but the WWF wouldn't dare pass up the chance to bring her out themselves. Sefa let out a long, low, whistle. "Our oldest is doing pretty good for himself."

"Well, we know Marc has never had a problem, uhm, finding female companionship," Jen said, sounding just the tiniest bit defensive. Jen played the game of being irritated at Marc's overwhelming popularity with women, but Sefa also knew that deep down, she liked that her eldest was so popular with women. Had he been a womanizer, Jen would have likely been ashamed, but Marc was not a womanizer. Marc genuinely cared about them.

Sefa remembered when he was home for a few days, and Marc was around fifteen. He and his friends from school were talking in the den, and Sefa could overhear them. One of his friends started making crude jokes about certain girls in the school, referring to some of them in terms such as "Door knob, 'cause everyone has had a turn!" Sefa had rolled his eyes, but dismissed it as boys will be boys.

Marc, however, wasn't willing to cut his friends slack. "Says the guy who would screw a watermelon if you cut a hole for him to stick it into."

As expected, the guy protested, while the other ones laughed, but Marc calmly pointed out that if the friend was giving a double standard. It was okay for friend to get all the sex he wanted, because he was a guy, but if a girl wanted sex, she was not a good person and worthy of mockery. Friend had tried to argue the point, but Marc had not backed down. Everyone deserved to be held by the same standards, so either the girl in question was just someone with a healthy, sexual appetite, if indeed the rumors about her were true, or friend was a manwhore. Sefa had listened to this, feeling proud of his boy. When he was growing up, Sefa was more like Marc's friend when it came to women. It made him feel good that at least one of his kids had managed to stay above that petty bullshit. And Sefa was sure that was one of the main reasons Marc was so popular with women, he didn't judge them. He didn't kiss and tell (Or, in cruder terms, fuck and talk) he didn't judge based on sexuality.

"Yes, we know that," Sefa said. "But _that_ woman is in a different class than any woman I've ever seen leaving his place. And, she made _cinnamon rolls_. A woman doesn't make cinnamon rolls for a guy unless she cares."

"Marc said she felt bad, because he'd told her how much he and the rest of the family loved my cinnamon rolls on Sunday morning. She knew I wouldn't have the time to make them, so she thought she could help out."

"Wow," Sefa said, part of him still having trouble believing this. "Was she with him when he brought them up to the house?"

"No," Jen said. "But he just dropped off the pan and went back to his house. He said she had made some more for them and they were going to have them together."

"Wow," Sefa repeated, knowing he must sound like a broke record. "How were the rolls? As good as yours?"

"Marc said mine are better," Jen said, "But _I_ tasted them, they were just as good as mine. And, I liked her icing just a _little_ bit better. It wasn't quite as sweet as mine is, and it really enhanced the flavor of the cinnamon."

"I think I hear wedding bells," Sefa said, only half joking. For Marc, this was about as serious as it got. Since he became an adult, he was an expert at keeping his love life away from his family life.

"I don't know," Jen said. "But I wouldn't mind having a daughter in law."

* * *

"Dean's _alive?"_ Jacob said, his voice both excited and disbelieving at the same time. He looked around the living room as if expecting Dean to pop out behind the sofa, calling out, "Hey, I'm home!"

"Yes," Donna said. "He's alive and living in Florida. I met his foster father today." She told him how Peter and Sefa had come to the house and explained that Dean hadn't even remembered his name when Sefa's sons found him. She stammered and fought off tears as she told him about what had happened to Dean, how he'd been kidnapped and abused. That his kidnappers had beaten him until he forgot his name out of self preservation. How Sefa had let him pick his own name, and he had become Jon Moxley, but preferred to be called Mox. She told him that one of Dean's kidnappers was dead, killed by the other. But that the one that had killed the other was in custody, and how he had told the Sheriff who Mox was and where he had been taken from.

"It shouldn't have taken this long to find him," Jacob said firmly. "Peter has been maintaining his information on the Missing Child website, why did it take so long?"

He sounded slightly indignant, which made Donna want to hug him. "He didn't even _know_ his name," she reminded him. "Or where he was from. Or, when he was born. He was 'pretty sure' he was fifteen when they found him and 'pretty sure' he was born in December, but nothing definite."

"I _still_ think they should have tried harder," Jacob said. Despite her past, where she knew she'd been the bad guy, Jacob believed she had changed and believed she shouldn't be judged at all for what she had done. Donna wished she felt as comfortable with forgiving herself.

"The impression I got was that they were far more worried about Dean himself, rather than who he belonged to. He had a sprained ankle and when they first took him in, he believed he was made into a living _bomb_ because his kidnappers told him that. And I'm _grateful_ , that their first concern was for him and not for who might be missing him."

"Oh." Jacob's voice was small and Donna knew he wanted to object more, but he was processing the information.

Then she dropped the big bombshell, that the Reigns wanted keep Dean/Mox with them. How Sefa had reminded her that Dean had been gone for a very long time, and was probably old enough to decide for himself where he belonged. She couldn't explain this to Jacob, but large part of her understood this. She still had a Dean sized hole in her heart, but it was the size of a five year old Dean, not a sixteen year old Mox. A five-year-old Dean who was growing up neglected, but not sexually abused. Or, maybe, even a five-year-old with a recovering drug addict mother who was a lot better to him than she had been before. Not beaten, not abused. This "Mox" was her son by blood, but was he really her son in _his_ heart or even in hers?

"You told him no, right?" Jacob asked.

She shook her head. "I told him I would give him my answer tomorrow. That I needed a night to think about."

"What is there to _think_ about?" Jacob asked. "He's _our_ son, he belongs with us."

"Well, technically, he's not _our_ son," Donna reminded him.

"He's _your_ son," Jacob said. "And we're _married_ , so that makes him _my_ son. His biological father was never in his life, and if he hadn't been taken, he would have been _my_ son. And Amber and Zach would be his brother and sister. Screw this 'step' or 'half' family bullshit. I would be his _father_. I would have _adopted_ him."

She loved him so much at that moment, loved him for his indignation on her behalf. For his automatic belief that if Dean hadn't disappeared, she would have eventually straightened herself out and they would have met, when in truth, Dean being gone was what lead her to get the help she needed. Jacob believed the best about her, and she realized that was a precious gift. "Jacob," she said, gently. "You know I love you."

"And I love you too," He said, looking a little confused at the change of subject.

"You're my world, and so are Amber and Zach, _and_ Dean. And I am overcome with joy that Dean is alive, yet filled with sorrow for the life he has lead," They were sitting together on the sofa, but the had both turned towards each other to talk, and she took his hands. "I want what is best for _Dean_ , even if it isn't _us."_

"I understand," Jacob said slowly, "But how do we know we're _not_ what's best for him? I'm not saying this Sefa and his family aren't good people, they sound like wonderful people, and they were very good to take him in, but that doesn't mean they are automatically better for Dean than we would be. We haven't even had the chance to _try._ "

 _He makes a very good point,_ Donna thought. They hadn't had a chance to try. And didn't they at least deserve that? "What do you suggest I tell him tomorrow, then?" she asked.

Jacob hesitated for a moment as if trying to turn incoherent thoughts into rational ideas. Then he told her what _he_ thought would be best for Dean.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I had something earlier up here how in the next chapter the fate of Mox would be revealed. As I was going through my chapters, I realized I was wrong. I am sorry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** _Nah, this isn't a disclaimer, just a bunch of words so the chapter number is properly centered. Yes, I know, this is a little obsessive, but it's my thing. My other quest in life is to figure out how to brew up the absolutely perfect cup of chamomile tea. Hey, I'm a simple person with simple goals._

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

.

.

They were tiny, orange pills that reminded Mox of those orange aspirin for kids that you could chew. But, these hadn't come in a bottle, they had come in a box, put in tiny, pill sized plastic cups with foil over the back.

Jen didn't know about the days when Mox was Timmy and did a lot of drugs like Sefa and Marc did, so she trusted him with the pills. They had gotten the pills on Saturday, after Everything Had Happened. The doctor prescribed them and the drugstore had filled them. They had been prescribed to him, because Dr. P (as Mox liked to call him, because Doctor Proctor just sounded so _wrong)_ and Jen were both worried that he was taking everything a little too well and thought he might later find himself having panic attacks and these were for "just in case." Both Jen and Dr. P. were quick to tell him that if he found he didn't need them, he shouldn't take them. They were only if he found himself stressing to the point where he felt he was going to have a panic attack, or he was actually _having_ a panic attack.

Mox knew what a panic attack was, he'd had them before. Oddly though, Timmy never had one. Maybe because Timmy was _in_ the nightmare. Maybe it was only a panic _attack_ if there was no reason to panic. Timmy had lots of reasons to panic and _had_ panicked, but they weren't attacks. Mox panicked for reasons he shouldn't, like seeing certain things that reminded him of when he was Timmy. One time he'd been really freaked out. Most other times, he would feel them coming and head for one of the wrestling rings and start running ropes, letting himself fall into the rhythm of the movement. Run, bounce, turn, repeat. Over and over again, until all the twisted and tangled thoughts snarled in his head, telling him that he needed to get away, get away, run, or just shut down, began to straighten out and then disappear. He had never taken anti anxiety medication, hadn't had to, he'd fixed himself.

Mox read the box. Alprazolam, .25mg. _You don't have to take one,_ he told himself. _If you don't need it, don't take it._

He put the box back in the medicine cabinet and brushed his teeth.

"Hey, Mox!" He heard Roman calling from the bedroom they shared. "Mom says if you want breakfast, you'd better get a move on, we've got to be at Aaron's office in less than two hours."

"Bime buffing by beeth," Mox called back, trying to both talk and not spit toothpaste everywhere. "B'll be bight bout!" As he was spitting out the toothpaste, and rinsing out his mouth, he heard Roman heading downstairs for breakfast.

Mox rinsed his mouth with that oral rinse he and Roman used, the one that was supposed to help keep their gums healthy and their teeth strong. Looking in the mirror, he was startled. Normally when he looked in the mirror, he saw a wrestler, or at least a future wrestler. He saw someone who was strong and getting stronger every day. He saw Jon Moxley, "but you can call me Mox."

Today though, the eyes were different. The face was different. His brows were furrowed, he was biting the corner of his lips. This wasn't Mox, this was _Timmy._

He took the container of pills from the medicine cabinet and pulled out one of the pill packets. He looked at it briefly, then stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans, put the box with the other packet in the medicine cabinet and left the room.

.

* * *

.

Ms. Clarke was waiting outside for them at the Sheriff's station. When Mox, Jen, Roman, Marc, and Lance headed up to her, she smiled. "Hey, how are you folks doing?"

"I'm missing school for this," Lance announced, almost proudly. "And I had a _math_ test today. But Mom explained to the school and I get to take it tomorrow, instead, which is good, because a zero would _really_ mess up my grade point average."

Ms. Clarke smiled at Lance. "Well, I'm glad to hear you can make it up then. I'd hate to see your GPA go down." Before Lance could continue, she looked at Mox, "Are you ready for this?"

"No," Mox answered honestly.

"I know," she said, her voice soft and sympathetic. "But remember, I'll be with you the whole time and Jen too, if you want her to be."

 _And that's a lot of what I'm worried about,_ Mox thought. But he forced himself to nod. "I just don't like the idea of being questioned."

"You are here to give a statement, not to be questioned," Ms. Clarke reminded him. "You only have to tell them what happened Saturday. You don't have to go into details about your past, but you will have to tell them of your... _relationship_ with Dennis and Simon." She made relationship sound like a nasty word, which in this case, it sure was. "But, you don't have to give them any details about your past you don't want to give. Keep in mind though, that if you confess to everything, it is likely to attract the attention of the media, but, it is also more likely to get Dennis in worse trouble than he's in. That they will end up throwing a lot of other charges. But, then you are likely to have to testify in court. You might still have to testify in court, if this goes to trial."

"Will Aaron interview me?" Mox asked. He didn't think he would mind as much if Aaron was the one to interview him, he at least knew Aaron and knew he was an okay guy.

"I'm sorry, he can't," Ms. Clarke said. They were walking to the building now, and Ms. Clarke was walking next to him, Jen on the other side. "He's the one who arrested Dennis, so he can't be impartial. He's a witness himself, in a sense. And, he's friends with all of you, so he's not going to be impartial. A judge might look suspiciously at him taking a statement from you."

"Oh," Mox slid his hand into his back pocket, and touched the pill packet. For some reason, just knowing it was there was reassuring.

.

* * *

.

There were three different rooms set up for this, and they were told that things to go quicker, if Mox was willing to just let Ms. Clarke, his social worker sit with him and let Jen handle being with Lance and Roman. Everyone looked at Mox, letting him decide. "It's okay if you'd rather I was there," Jen said, "We have the day to do this. It's your call."

Mox pretended to think about this for a moment, then slowly nodded. "It's okay," he said, hoping the relief he felt didn't show in his voice. He'd rather _nobody_ was with him, but he knew as a minor, he was expected to have an adult present. Ms. Clarke was bad enough, because he actually liked her and hoped she liked him. But Jen? The woman he thought of as his mother? No. Let her be with Roman and Lance. Their stories would be straightforward. They wouldn't have to go into the reasons why Dennis and Simon had been there.

Lance looked almost eager to go, which didn't surprise Mox at all. This meant Roman would be the one to have to wait. Roman didn't look bothered by that, he sat down in the waiting room and pulled out his Ipod, a gift from his grandmother at Christmas. Within a few seconds, he was nodding in time with the music he was playing.

"Are you ready?" Ms. Clarke asked Mox.

Mox started to nod, then shook his head. "I need to use the bathroom first." The deputy who would be taking his statement showed him where the mens room was. Mox ducked into a stall, sat on the toilet, and pulled out the package of pills. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, like some animal stuck in his rib cage that wanted to smash its way out of there. He took several slow breaths, inhaling through the nose and exhaling through his mouth. Lance had told him that could help with a panic attack. Lance had dealt with panic attacks before. He told Mox the worst ones he had were when he was waiting for the results of the tests that would prove if he had Acute Myeloid leukemia (AML). "The waiting was the worst," he confided. "Worse than knowing. At least when we knew we could make a plan of action, but we had to _know_ , first."

Mox was pretty sure his folks had tried to keep their suspicious about Lance having cancer from him, but he also was not surprised Lance had figured it out. He probably got on the net and did a lot of searching and found out what his symptoms could mean and then put it all together.

For a moment, he almost felt better, doing that breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth, and thinking about Lance. It took his mind off of all this statement giving business. _Maybe I can do this,_ he thought.

Then, he felt his chest begin to tighten again, his heart starting to behave like wild animal, his breathing becoming shallow.

He pushed a pill through the package. He held it in one palm while he used his other hand to put the rest of the pills in his back pocket. He stared at that innocent looking pill for a long time, a million emotions going through him. _Timmy would have taken it, no questions asked._

He remembered his face in the mirror that morning. How Timmy's eyes, both strange and familiar staring back at him. _"I'm still here, Mox,"_ those eyes had seemed to be saying, _"You haven't gotten rid of me, yet."_

Finally he shrugged, popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed it, dry. If it buzzed him up too badly, well, he had a prescription for it, it wasn't like he could be arrested for taking something he was prescribed by a doctor.

He stood up, flushed the toilet, and left the stall. And just in case he could be heard outside, he washed and dried his hands.

.

* * *

.

When Lance walked into the room that had been set up for him, he saw there were video cameras and frowned. He knew the person who would be interviewing him too, he was one of Marc's friends from high school, Patrick Kendal, who still sometimes came over and hung out with Marc, when they both had free time. "Pat, why is this going to be videotaped?" he asked, then realized he might be acting rude, so added, "Am I supposed to call you Officer Kendal, because you're at work?"

"You can call me Pat if it makes you more comfortable," Pat said. "And we prefer to take a video statement with minors, because if the case goes to trial, often a video statement can serve as a replacement for having you actually appear in court. We make the video tape, and then transcribe it. If the defense or the prosecution wants to see the tape, we give them a copy. But, hopefully the transcript is enough."

"I'm not afraid," Lance said, squaring his shoulders and looking at Pat. He knew he probably had that mulish expression on his face that irritated people sometimes, especially his father. But he wanted Patrick to understand this. "I _was_ afraid, like when I saw it. But Mox is okay. All I want is to make sure Mox never has to worry about that guy again. Because he _hurt_ him, and I don't like that at all."

"We don't either," Patrick said. "And that's why we appreciate that you're willing to do this."

His Mom was sitting off to the side, where Lance could see her, but the camera didn't. When Patrick started the tape, he did say that he was taking the statement of Lance Reigns, a minor child. Lance appreciated that he didn't give his age. He was tall for his age, the chemo hadn't taken all of that from him, although he might end up being shorter than Roman when he was older, but he was still tall for nine. So, maybe, if anyone saw this, they would think he was older. Like at least twelve, maybe even thirteen. He knew the transcript would make him sound older, because he was always being told he talked like a kid who was older than his age. Then, Patrick explained that Jennifer Reigns, Lance's mother was present. And Patrick did move the camera, so it showed his mom for a moment, who said that she was indeed Lance's mom and she was allowing this taping to happen. Then, the camera went to Lance and stayed there. Patrick asked him, to tell what happened in his own words and to the best of his ability, what he had seen on Saturday morning.

So, Lance told his story into the camera, how he wanted to go running with Mox that morning, but he'd woken up late and how he managed to make it downstairs before Mox actually started running and Mox agreed to go slower, and give Lance a chance to get dressed and catch up.

"And I moved like I had a bug up my butt!" Lance explained, and then frowned, hoping that saying "butt" wouldn't be considered too crass. "I mean, my bottom," he corrected.

He went on to explain that he had been running the path they often ran together, through the woods, but he was trying to run very quietly, because he wanted to sneak up on Mox, and just start running next to him, trying to see if he could fool him into thinking he'd been running right next to him longer than he actually had been.

"Mox, I mean, Jon. Well, his name is Jon, but only my mom calls him that and my Grandmother. Everyone else calls him Mox, so I might forget again and call him Mox instead of Jon, but you'll know who I mean, right?"

He didn't wait for an answer, but continued, telling how before he caught up, he heard the voices of strangers and Mox's voice. "I thought at first maybe it was one of the people at the school. Which is officially called the Samoan Pride Wrestling Academy, and it's one of the highest regarded wrestling schools in the world." He thought after he said it, that might have sounded a little boastful, even if it was the honest truth. But Pat didn't look angry, instead he smiled a bit. Maybe Patrick thought it was good that Lance was willing to talk up his father's school. Pat probably dealt with kids who were getting in trouble and were always saying bad things about their families. He might really appreciate that Lance's family all loved each other and weren't mean to each other… well, most of the time they weren't. And if they were? It blew over fast.

He continued to tell his story, how he had hidden off to the side of the path to see what was going on, and instead of Mox and a student talking, he saw two guys, and one of them had a gun on Mox. And that they were calling him Timmy. "The one who got arrested? He said he missed Timmy, and Mox shouted and said this guy hadn't missed him, because he'd wanted to kill him." Lance frowned and thought about it for a bit, focusing on what he'd heard. "The arrested guy, I guess his name is Dennis? Well, he said, 'I missed you, Timmy.' And then Mox said, 'Missed me so much you were going to kill me?' That's when I knew I had to do something, or Mox _would_ be killed."

He wanted Pat and whoever watched this tape to understand that he had handled himself well, that he hadn't done anything stupid, so he explained how he had slowly backed away, being careful not to make any noise until he was sure he was far enough away. "Then I ran as fast as I could to the house and got help!"

.

* * *

.

The camera made Mox nervous at first, even after the Deputy, Jim Wydell explained to him why they would film him. He'd been thinking he would just talk and they would write down what he was saying. The reasons for filming this made sense, but the camera was freaking him out. He sat in a chair at a table, his fists clenched under the table, his nails digging into his palms, grateful he had trimmed his nails recently, otherwise, he'd knew he'd be cutting into his palms, making them bleed. He tried to pretend the camera wasn't there, but that was nearly impossible. He heard Jim Wydell explain that he was a minor and that his social worker, Ms. Clarke was in the room too. The camera panned over to Ms. Clarke who stated her name, and agreed she was Jon Moxley's social worker, because he was a ward of the state, living in a foster family. Mox wasn't sure he liked that. He much preferred to think he was a member of the Reign's family, even if he didn't share their last name. Then, the camera panned back to him and he froze, just staring at it. His brain tried to tell him to stop this, and talk, so he opened his mouth and nothing came out. "Mox, are you okay?" he heard Ms. Clarke ask.

"I don't… I don't…" Mox began, intending to tell them he didn't, no he _couldn't_ deal with having a camera on him. Which was stupid, because he'd been cutting promos in front of a camera for his wrestling for weeks and he wasn't afraid of that. He heard Wydell say he would start the recording again, because they weren't allowed to edit it, that if edits were found, the defense could have a field day claiming that the video evidence had been tampered with. He heard Ms. Clarke express worry for him, and heard Wydell assure her that a lot of kids and even adults got nervous when cameras were around.

 _Pull it together, Mox!_ he ordered himself. And he recognized that internal voice as Timmy's. Timmy wasn't nearly as afraid of the camera as Mox was. Then again, Timmy had nothing to lose. Timmy was probably thrilled he was being allowed out to play, since Mox had been trying to kill him off since the day he ran away.

 _That little fucker didn't die, he just laid low,_ Mox thought, and knew those were Mox thoughts. He bit his lip as he heard Wydell start the whole process again.

Just as Ms. Clarke was about to tell everyone who she was for the second time, the tiny orange not-baby-aspirin hit and it was like someone had thrown a blanket over his brain. A soft, cozy blanket. A magical blanket, that worked like a flying carpet, taking him to a wonderful place called, "Don't-Give-A-Fuck" land. He wasn't sure who was in charge of his brain right now, Mox or Timmy, but when the camera turned on him he looked at it. "My name is Jon Moxley," he stated, "And I live with the Reign's family. I work at their wrestling camp. I am their foster son. I've been living with them since the night I ran away from Dennis, a man who held me captive for over ten years, along with his friend, Simon. I only recently learned their real names. I was only allowed to call Dennis 'father' and Simon was Sam."

He did not talk about the sexual abuse, he couldn't go that far, but he told about almost everything else. That they had kidnapped him when he was five going on six. That as far as he could remember, he was kidnapped from outside of school. That they told him his mother had sent them to pick him up and that is why he went with them, willingly at first. He told about the abuse and torture, how they had told him they were putting a bomb inside of him, and how both of them, but mostly Dennis, had beat him. How most of his life he had been locked in a basement. He didn't give descriptions, just stated facts.

The little orange pill continued to protect him from what he was saying, putting up that barrier between his words and emotions. Until the end, after he told them how Dennis had told him that he loved him and how that had pissed him off, and got him to risk himself by kicking Dennis in the nuts, which forced him to drop the gun.

He remembered that moment well, how he'd been more angry than upset. As he talked about it, he found his fingers clenching under the table, again, his digging into his palms. And even though he was absolutely furious at that whole situation, even though he had enjoyed kicking Dennis in the nuts, he also felt his eyes sting and by the time he was done, he knew tears were falling down his face. The protection of the pills, while wonderful and comforting were not infallible.

.

* * *

.

After all statements were given, all of them, including Ms. Clarke had a late lunch together, at a diner Sefa had taken Mox to on the second day he'd been with the Reigns. It was different this time. Mox could barely read the menu before, and had to trust Sefa to order for him. Now he could read the menu just fine. The first time he'd been there, it was his first time inside a restaurant. He'd only seen them in movies before.

He found himself ordering the same thing that Sefa had ordered for him, remembering how much he'd liked it. A chili cheeseburger with chili cheese fries, a house salad with ranch dressing and coffee. Jen looked at him as if she wasn't sure he should be ordering coffee, but according to her own rules, he could, he was sixteen. Lance had a coke, likely because the Reigns didn't keep soda in the house unless it was a special occasion. Roman could have ordered coffee too, but he ordered unsweetened iced tea, because he'd heard it from more than once source that it was the best and healthiest thing to drink besides water. He did drink a cup of coffee most mornings although he was trying to wean himself off of that. Mox knew that the day might come when he should do the same thing, but that day wasn't today.

Everyone was talking about everything _but_ the statements they'd given, as if they could just put the whole business behind themselves now. Mox wondered if it would be that way, or if there would be a lot more to go through. He feared it was the second, but he didn't say anything, preferring to pretend, right along with his family, that everything was just great. His fingers kept going to his back pocket and he kept touching that strip of magical orange pills.

He was sitting next to Jen, they were at a large, rounded booth. At one point, both Roman and Lance were talking to Ms. Clarke and Mox felt safe enough. "Mom?"

She turned her attention to him. "Yes?"

He pulled the strip out of his pocket and handed the pills to her. "When we get home, I'll give you the box," he said. "But I don't want to be in control of them. I want to have to ask you if I can have one, first."

Jen looked at the strip, with its one pill missing. Then she looked at him and Mox knew she wanted to ask a million questions, but she didn't. Instead she nodded and put the pills in her purse.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Amazingly, I pretty much have nothing to say this week. Thanks to everyone who read this. Thanks again to folks who favored/followed. Triple thanks to those who reviewed, or sent me a message about the story (Can I call them a private review?) Keep the encouragement coming folks, I just love it.


	6. Chapter 6

**You Know The Drill** : _This is one of my fake disc_ _laimers, a little blurb I put at the top of my stories so they center better. It's probably a sign I am way too obsessed with weird things, but I prefer to think of it as an adorable little quirk. The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle._

* * *

.

 **Chapter Six**

.

Sefa had lucked out for the flight home. The first fight he was supposed to take was oversold, and if he was willing to take another flight, four hours later, they would upgrade him to first class at no charge.

He was more than happy to accept the deal and took the extra time to go to a place in the airport called "Local Pub." He got something to eat and a drink and then debated if he should call Jen. He knew that she would want him to answer questions and he wasn't sure he wanted to. But, he also knew she deserved to know at least when he'd be home.

He stared at his cell phone, then decided to split the difference and texted her. _"_ _ **I hope everything went well today. I'm at the airport, I'll be flying out soon.**_ _"_ He gave her the flight information and said that if it got in too late, she shouldn't come and get him, she should either send Marc or let him know and he'd take a bus if he could get one running that late, or a taxi if he couldn't.

She texted back a few minutes later. _"Marc or I will be there, you're not going to take a bus or a taxi home. Should I save some dinner for you?"_

" _ **No. I ate something here. I might want a sandwich when I get home, but I can make that myself. You worry about the boys, and go to bed when you're tired. Hows Mox?"**_

He put the phone down and took a sip of his drink, rum and coke. He remembered the old days, when he'd been in airports, most of the time with his tag team partner, Aleki, and the two of them would have a few drinks before the flight and more lubricated _on_ the flight. He didn't miss those days, he loved running the camp and loved being able to see his kids grow up, but there were times like this, when he couldn't help but be a little nostalgic. He also wouldn't mind if Aleki were here, it wasn't as much fun to be drinking alone.

As he was signalling the bartender for another one, his phone buzzed and he checked his messages. As he expected, it was from Jen.

" _Mox is fine. He handled the statement well enough, according to Ms. Clarke. They had to do two takes, because he had trouble the first time. But the second time, he did fine. He was very straight forward. He didn't talk about everything, but he told that he had been kidnapped."_

Sefa knew "everything" was code for "any of the sexual abuse," which didn't surprise him. It _did_ surprise him that Mox had opened up to the other abuse, the beatings, the torture. Hopefully, that would be enough to get Dennis's lawyer to realize that it would be in his client's best interest to plead down the deal to enough time in prison to make sure the bastard never got a chance to hurt another child.

When his drink was brought to him, he paid, looking at the clock. His flight would be leaving soon enough. He had deliberately waited until it was close to leaving time before texting. And he felt bad for it. He knew he should text Jen back right now, but instead he sipped his drink.

His phone buzzed again. _"Sefa, what's going on? Did you talk to Donna today?"_

He took a large sip from his drink and texted back. _" **Y**_ _ **es, I did.**_ _"_

He hadn't even had the chance to put the phone down before it buzzed again.

" _WELL?"_

He sighed. _**"I'd rather discuss it in person."**_

Again, she fired back to him quickly. _"Have we lost him? That's why you don't want to discuss it, she want him back and we can't do anything about it. Right?"_

He finished his drink and took some money out of his pocket to pay his tab. He really needed to be heading for the gate. His phone, however, kept buzzing with a new text every minute or so. Somewhere along the line, Jen had learned how to text a lot faster than he could.

" _Sefa, she wants him back, right?"_

" _Talk to me."_

" _I'm going crazy, tell me what's going on!"_

He sighed, grabbing the overnight bag he'd brought with him. _**"It's not so cut and dry. That's why I want to wait until I get home and talk to you about it."**_ It took him a fair bit to type that out, and he thought that it would take her a bit to respond.

" _Either she wants him and is going to try to get him, or she is willing to let us keep him. WHICH IS IT?"_

It came awful fast, and she was furious. He knew it, even if the all capital letters hadn't made that pretty clear. _"_ _ **Again, it's not that cut and dry. She does want him, but she also wants what's best for him. She's a nice woman. If it wasn't for these circumstances, you'd probably like her."**_

" _STOP EVADING AND TELL ME WHAT'S GOING ON?"_

He sighed then typed as fast as he could with his big thumbs and the tiny screen. _**"Again, it's complicated and I don't want to get into it until I'm home. And, I can't get into it anyway, because we're boarding the plane right now and I have to turn my phone off, you know how they are about that."**_

He sent the message, then hit the button to turn off the phone, silencing it and putting it in his pocket. Yes, he'd lied about having to board the plane, but he hadn't _really_ lied about things being complicated.

He just did not want to talk about it, until he could be face to face with Jen, so they could figure out how to talk to Mox about it.

.

* * *

.

Jen wanted to go to the airport so she could have that time alone with Sefa, to drill him about what was going on, and, if she had to be honest, yell at him a little about that text and run trick he had pulled. However, she also didn't want Roman, Mox, or Lance finding out their dad was coming home, knowing that would lead to a mountain of questions she just didn't want to deal with, and most she really couldn't answer, because she didn't know. So, she asked Marc if he would do it.

For a moment, Marc looked disappointed, as if he had plans he didn't want to cancel, but then he smiled and nodded. "Of course I will," he said.

Jen was grateful. And, she hoped he hadn't made plans with Noella he had to cancel. And, if he did, that she would be understanding that this qualified as a family emergency. She realized she was getting ahead of herself, Marc had not announced he had any special relationship with Noella, but she couldn't help but hope.

.

* * *

.

Sefa was not surprised that Marc did not want to come into the house with him, but instead was happy to drive him home and head to his house. Sefa didn't blame him, either. Sefa had explained to him what was going on, what Donna had said.

"Mom isn't going to like this at all," Marc said.

"I know," Sefa admitted. "I don't either. But, Donna has a valid point."

"Mom won't understand that." Marc shook his head. "Not after what just happened. She's feeling she has to protect him and that only the both of you can protect him."

"I know."

They talked about other things for the rest of the way home, mostly about the business. But, when Marc drove up to the house and as Sefa was grabbing his bag, Marc reached out and put his hand on Sefa's shoulder as if he was the parent and Sefa the child. "Good luck, Dad."

"Thank you," Sefa said.

.

* * *

.

When Sefa walked into the kitchen, he saw Jen was sitting at the kitchen table with a pile of paperwork that she had clearly been pretending and _only_ pretending to look at. It was late, and the kids were likely in bed. "Hi," he said, a bit sheepishly. "I'm home."

"So I see," Jen said, looking at him, brows raised and lips pursed.

"Go ahead," he said, dropping his carry on bag to the floor. "Say it."

Her eyes narrowed. "That was a nasty trick you pulled, not telling me what was going on. Not texting me until you were waiting to board the plane. And I _don't_ appreciate it."

"I know," he said. "And I feel bad that I had to do it, but like I said, I wanted to tell you face to face."

Her expression softened and her lower lip began to tremble. "We _have_ lost him, haven't we?"

He saw her eyes filling with tears and walked over to the table. Gently he removed the pen she was holding and pushed the papers to the side. Then, he leaned over and hugged her. "We haven't lost him… for good anyway. And I don't think we will."

"What's going on?" She asked, confused by his answer. "And, if you want coffee, there is some left in the pot, help yourself. But _tell_ me."

Coffee could wait. He sat down in the chair next to her, the one Marc usually sat at. "She wants what's best for him, but she also pointed out that while we known we're good for him, she and her family deserve a chance, too. That maybe they can be just as good as, or even better than we are for him."

Jen stiffened at the word "better," taking it, as he suspected she would, as an insult. "We _have_ been very good to him," she said.

"Of course we have, and she recognizes that." Sefa wished this was easier to explain than it was turning out to be. "But as she pointed out, and I have to agree, she hasn't had a chance. Her son was kidnapped."

"Maybe if she'd been keeping a better eye on him, he wouldn't have _been_ kidnapped." Jen muttered.

"Unfair." Sefa countered. That was when he decided not to talk about Donna being a recovering drug addict. He knew Jen was overreacting, but she wasn't able to see Donna' side, as she had been so many other times. Right now, she saw Mox as one of her cubs and mama bear was going to protect her cub.

Jen frowned. "So, what is going to happen?"

Sefa cleared his throat, remembering talking to her that afternoon. She was at work, and was interrupted several times by boys coming in for various health concerns, and he had been impressed with her patience for each one. But, her patience and kindness couldn't be taken for being too soft or gullible. At least one young man was obviously faking a stomach ache and Donna got him to confess that stomach ache really meant he didn't want to go to his math class. What really impressed him was that she hadn't just scolded him and just sent him off to class, she asked him why math was hard for him, and told him that if he went to class, when school was out, he could come back to her office, and she would help him with his math, if it wasn't too busy. The boy left her office looking a lot happier. She was more than a nurse for some of these troubled boys, she was a confidant and a substitute mother as well. She might have done just fine with Mox, had Mox known who he was and been returned to her, rather than coming to live with them.

"She wants Mox to come and stay with her and her family, well, really _his_ family, too, until the end of August." Sefa said. "To give him a chance to experience life at both places, and to give him a chance to get to know her again, and his brother and sister and her husband, his stepfather."

"Does her husband even _know_ about Jon?" Jen asked, in a way that told Sefa she was grasping at straws, trying to come up with a reason to hate this plan.

"Yes, he does," Sefa told her. "In fact, he came in while I was there and we spoke. He's a very nice guy, and he is looking forward to getting to know Dean."

"Jon doesn't _like_ the name, Dean," Jen snapped. "He _likes_ the name _Jon Moxley."_

Sefa decided this was not the time to remind her that Mox didn't even know his given name was Dean Ambrose, so it was merely assumption on her part that he wouldn't like it. "Well, we need to figure out how to tell him all of this, and that won't be easy. I do hope that part of him at least, wants to see his mother again. Or, at least is curious." He knew that if Jen really thought about it, she'd understand exactly why this solution was offered. It would have been the kind of thing she would have suggested herself. The anger was because he had waited to tell her, and because all that had happened with Mox the last few days, had her worried about him. _I should have told her before I got on the plane, but I didn't want to leave her alone with this information, knowing that she had answers, but she couldn't tell the kids. Did I make it worse?_

.

* * *

.

Mox sat on the landing on the stairs and listening to Sefa and Jen talk. Jen was talking a bit louder, which made things things easier to follow. This was a good spot to listen, Lance had told him about it. Being on the landing made it so you could hear someone coming, and duck up the stairs without being seen.

Now though, he wasn't thinking about getting upstairs quickly. He was leaning against the railing, his hands and feet feeling cold, one hand clutching onto the spindles that held up the railing. Since Lance had told him Sunday morning about Dad having to go somewhere, he had suspected this had everything to do with his past, and he was right.

 _Dennis must have come clean,_ he thought. _And told Sheriff Aaron something that could track me down. Probably where I came from, and my name. I still don't know my last name, but my first name, was Dean._

He tried to ponder the name Dean in a fair way. It wasn't the worst name he'd ever heard. It wasn't as good as Jon Moxley, and it _really_ wasn't as good as Mox, but it wasn't a horrible name. He liked it a lot better than "Timmy."

Memories were rushing at him, as if not knowing his own name had put up a dam and knowing it, cracked it. It wasn't whole memories coming through, but bits of them. A woman, that now he guessed to be his mother, her face still vague, but starting to come clearer. Hs mother had been sick a lot. She'd needed "medicine" a lot.

 _She wasn't sick,_ he realized, _And that wasn't medicine she took, it was drugs. And you can't talk her down over that, because you took drugs too, Mox._ Well, no, not Mox, but Timmy sure had, and as he learned today, Timmy was still a part of him.

 _Which means somewhere inside of you, Dean lives too._

Other memories came to him too though, of times when his mother hadn't been "sick" and had been a whole lot different. Maybe she had been high, he couldn't really be sure, but he knew there were times when his mother had been loving and attentive.

.

* * *

 _._

 _He was running around the apartment they lived in. He'd started out running from the kitchen, into the living room. And his mother was behind him, walking slowly, as if she wore very heavy shoes that slowed her down. "You can run, but you can't hide! I'm gonna get you!" she called out to him._

 _Those words_ should _have frightened him. They were the type of words that later, would_ terrify _him, but not then. Back then, they made him laugh and look behind him, watching his mother lumber like a half asleep bear. "No!" he shrieked as he ran from the living room, leaping and running over the sofa, jumping onto the coffee table, and then racing into his bedroom. Once in his bedroom, he hid on the side of the bed, drawing his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around him and rocking, and trying not to giggle, least he give his hiding spot away._

 _He couldn't hear his mother's lumbering footsteps anymore. And he wondered what was going on. Did she walk off? Did she have to go to the bathroom or something, and forget she was chasing him? He popped his head up to see over the bed._

 _His mother had crept in and was standing right on the other side of the bed. He laughed and ducked down. She fell onto the bed, reached over and grabbed him, pulling him up and snuggling him in her arms. "I gotcha!"_

 _He squirmed, as if trying to get away, but he wasn't trying very hard. It was nice being in Mommy's arms, it felt good to be snuggled like this. "You catched me!" he squealed._

" _Caught you," she corrected, kissing the top of his head. "It's a hard one, but caught is what you say, not catched. And since I caught you…" She moved slightly away from him, and pushed him down to the bed. "You know what that means!"_

" _No!" he said, shaking his head. He knew what was coming and it was fun, but part of the game was for him to pretend he didn't like it._

" _Yes!" She cried, lifting his shirt, exposing his belly "It's RASPBERRY jam time!" And before he could stop her (not that he wanted to) she licked her lips, leaned over and blew a tremendous raspberry on his tummy, making him scream with laughter, both at how it tickled and how funny it sounded._

" _Why Dean!" She said, lifting her head. "What awful noises! Do you have a belly ache?" And she leaned over and blew another raspberry into his tummy. "Does Mommy have to give you the cure?"_

" _YES!" he shouted, even though he was enjoying the raspberry jam, both the noise, the ticking, he liked the "cure" too._

 _She pulled down his shirt and gathered him into her arms again, snuggling him so close and tight, kissing the top of his head over and over again, singing to him between each kiss._

" _A great big kiss and a great big hug,  
All for my very special cuddle bug.  
The cutest cuddle bug that you ever have seen,  
Gonna kiss him, gonna hug him, cause he's my little Dean!"_

 _._

* * *

.

It wasn't one memory, it was a combination of many that floated through his head, with the same thing, the cuddling, the hugging and kissing and the little songs. Maybe the words weren't always the same, but the theme was. He was her cuddle bug, and he was young enough and innocent enough that being a cuddle bug and having raspberries blown on his tummy were _fun_ things, _innocent_ things. Which meant sometimes things had been good with his mother. That it hadn't all been her shaking because she needed "medicine," or her bringing different guys into the apartment over and over again and telling him they weren't important. Or, having that nasty woman who used to be over all the time, pinching him or saying mean things when his mother couldn't hear. Or, his mother screaming at him for dropping glasses, or wetting his bed.

 _I was different then,_ he thought. _I didn't mind being touched, at least not by her. I didn't want her friend going near me, but_ she _made me feel safe, when she wasn't "sick."_

He wasn't sure how he felt about these happier memories. He knew it should make him happy, but it didn't, it _confused_ him. He wrapped his arms around his knees, like he had so often as a child, both when he was "hiding" from his mom and happily waiting for her to discover him, and when he was upset and hoping she didn't. _The same reaction to two very different things,_ he thought, _which one is this representing?_

He wanted to hate her. He _had_ hated her all those years, hated her as much as he blamed himself for being a bad kid. He hated her because the drugs messed things up enough that he could believe (along with a lot of help from Dennis and Simon) that she had sold him. But these new memories made it hard. He could still distrust her, he could wish she'd never come back into his life, but he couldn't _hate_ her. He remembered something Roman had said to him, the first day he'd been here, when he was trying to run off, back when he still thought he had a bomb inside of him. When he had been trying to convince Roman he was a bad kid and that if Roman was smart, he'd let Mox get as far away from him and his family as he could. He was telling him the bad things he'd done that he remembered. How he had been a bad child and that's why his mother sold him. Roman hadn't believed that, or if his mother had sold him, that was because _she_ was bad, not Mox. And finally, when he kept telling Roman of the bad things, Roman finally said, "So? You're not perfect. News flash, Mox. None of us are."

 _And neither was my mother. And I don't think she sold me._

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't even hear someone leaving the kitchen and heading for the stairs. He did hear when the first foot hit the stairs, and maybe he could have managed to run back to bed if he was quick and quiet, but he had too much on his mind, and he just didn't care.

He looked up to see Sefa almost to the landing and looking at him. "How much did you hear?" Sefa asked.

He looked at the man that had never forced him to call him father, but the only man Mox wanted to _be_ his father. "I guess my name is Dean," he said softly. "And my… uh… mother wants me back."

Sefa sat down on the stairs next to him. It was a fairly wide staircase, but the two of them were just able to fit. Sefa put his arm around Mox. "She does," He admitted. "But she's also more concerned about what's best for you."

"Yeah," Mox said, not wanting the comfort of Sefa's arm around him, but unable to resist. "She wants me to go out there for a few months."

"Yeah," Sefa said. "And I told her I'd talk to you about it, and I know this is confusing and scary for you, but I think you should do it. I think your family has a right to get to know you and you have a right to get to know them. They _want_ you, Mox. You mother and your stepfather can't want to see you. And you've got a younger brother and sister, twins named Amber and Zachary. They're six years old."

"Are _they_ dying to meet me?" Mox asked.

"I don't think they've been told yet that you're coming," Sefa admitted. "I think your mom and your stepfather wanted to make sure you would be coming before breaking the news."

Mox saw a glimmer of hope in that statement. "So, can I just refuse?"

Sefa hesitated. "You can," he finally said. "And you could fight it on the fact that you are sixteen and you've established a life here. But, you also should know that they can fight too. You are Donna's son by blood. She never gave you up, you were taken from her. The courts could decide that you would be best with your birth mother, not with us."

Mox found himself leaning heavily into Sefa, trying to find the strength and comfort he needed. "I don't know what to do," he finally whispered.

Sefa sighed, tightening his arm around Mox. "What _I_ want you to do is to stay with us," he admitted. "We love you, we love having you living with us. But, the logical part of me says you should visit your mother and get to know your stepfather and your brother and sister. You have a right to get to know these folks, and they have a right to get to know you."

"I'm doing okay," Mox said. "It's not like I _need_ them or nothing."

"True," Sefa agreed. "And your mother and stepfather know you're doing well. And your birth mother is really grateful you're doing well, but don't you want to get to know them? They _are_ your family. You've got a brother and sister you've never met, aren't you curious?"

"Half," Mox muttered. "They're not full brother and sister, just half."

"I don't think they see things as half," Sefa said. "Donna never called them your half brother and sister, she always referred to them as your brother and sister. And I really think her husband sees them as your siblings too. And, I honestly believe that if things had been different and you had been with her when they met, he would have wanted to adopt you."

"So you _want_ me to go there?" Mox asked, feeling a little confused.

Sefa sighed. "The selfish part of me? The part of me that has come to think of you as another son? Another son who is also going to be a hell of a wrestler? No. That part of me wants you to thumb your nose at your mom and stay here-"

"-then that's-" Mox interrupted,

"- _But,_ " Seffa interrupted right back. "The part of me that deep down, wants only what is best for you, the part of me that isn't weighing _my_ feelings into this, thinks you _should_ do this. It's not permanent, unless you decide you want it to be. It's for a few months. I think that if you don't do it, later in life, you'll wonder what type of relationship you could have." As Mox opened his mouth to interrupt again, Sefa anticipated what he was going to say, and raised his hand to stop him. "I know, you can always contact them at any time, so you might not think it matters much that you stay with them now, but it does. The relationship you will form with them as an adult, is different than the one you will form as a not-quite-adult. When you're an adult, they really don't have much say in what you can or cannot do. Getting to know them as a teenager is going to make you see a different side of them. You've lost a lot of time with your mother. You've never had time with your brother and sister or your stepfather. You barely remember the time with your mother. You _can't_ get what Dennis and Sam took from you, but you _can_ get _this_ time. This time to know them as a teenager, then a young adult and an adult. And you can form a relationship with your brother and sister that could become very special and important to you as you get older."

Mox stared at the floor, still leaning against Sefa. What he was saying made sense, but it hurt too. _"You're_ my dad," he said softly. "You _told_ me you'd be my dad. And Jen likes it when I call her Mom, so _she's_ my mom. I feel like I already have three brothers. I have a family. Why do I need another?"

"Because you are someone worth loving," Sefa said. "You will _always_ be my son. Jen will _always_ be your mother. Roman, Lance and Marc will _always_ see you as a brother. But that doesn't mean you can't have others. You can have another mother, you can have your birth mother. You can have a stepfather. You can have a little brother named Zachary and a little sister named Amber. You deserve to have a lot of people love you. And these people want to love you."

"What if they _can't?"_ Mox asked, his voice still a whisper. "I'm not my mom's little boy anymore. I can't go backwards. I can only be me. Someone they really didn't raise at all. What if they don't like what I've become? What if not being able to raise me, made me someone they can't stand? Or, what if I give it my best shot, and I can't stand _them?"_

"If you can, survive the time and tell them you want to come home," Sefa said. "If you find you really can't stand another day? Call us. Tell us what's going on. We'll talk to them for you, if you can't talk to them. We'll get you out of there if we have to. But just be willing to give them a chance. Have an open mind, and an open heart, Mox. I can't answer for your brother and sister, because I didn't meet them, but I know your mother can't wait to love you. And your stepfather can't wait to meet you and get to know you. And they both want _only_ the best for you. Give them a chance."

Mox wanted to say something that would sum up the fear and frustration he was feeling. The clawing, burning ball of emotions he was trying to push down inside of him, fighting him, keeping him from finding the words that were just beyond his reach, the words that would say everything.

What came out was, "Now I'm never gonna win the Samoan Pride Wrestling Academy Championship."

Sefa didn't laugh, but he did smile. "Oh, yes you are," he said. "You are going to win that belt from Roman and you are going to defend it until you go away. And then you'll take it with you when you go."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Sefa said, squeezing him even tighter for a moment, then releasing him. "And don't think for a minute that just because you're getting time off from working here, that you can just rest. Cincinnati is the home of Heartland wrestling, where they teach and they have shows. _Real_ shows too, not the freebies we have around here. I know the guys who run the place and I'm going to make sure you can work for them so you can keep earning lessons. So, if you thought you'd get out of cleaning up puke and washing down toilets, think again."

Some of the anger, disappointment, and frustration sloughed off the ball in the pit of his stomach, where he was trying to force it into that dark place with all the other balls he'd choked down all his life and he smiled. "Really? I can keep training and working?"

"Yep." Sefa nodded. "Donna found the place online before I remembered that Les Thatcher and Cody Hawks run the place. I've met Hawks a few times. I've worked with Thatcher before and he's good. I'm going to talk to them and make sure they find room for you. I know they will, because you're _that_ good, Mox. And if they need to see for themselves, I'll have Lance send them links to the videos of the promos and the fights he's been recording. Who knows? Maybe they can even have you invade Heartland with the SPWA belt, work it into a real storyline."

That shaved a few more layers off of the ball of badness and Mox found himself getting almost excited, then he frowned. "Will my other family be okay? I mean, I know my birth mom found the place, but will they try to tell me I can't go there very long? I mean, I still will have to study for my GED, right? That takes time. And they might have chores for me to do, which is only fair. How do I get to this place? And how often can I go?"

"We'll work that all out," Sefa promised. "But, maybe, you can ease back on your studying. You've done well. I don't suggest you stop, but just ease back. Study enough that you don't forget what you've learned. Chores, you'll have to discuss with them. But I did tell Donna and Jacob that wrestling is very important to you, and that at least as far as I'm concerned and your talk therapist is concerned, it's something that has and continues to help you. And that you have the talent and ambition to actually be a wrestler. I wouldn't try to camp out at Heartland, but I'm sure a schedule can be worked out where you will have time to be at Heartland and spend time with your family. I think they'll get it. And I'll make sure Hawks and Thatcher understand that you're also there to get to know your family, and they need to respect that."

Mox stared down at his feet. He wasn't sure if he wanted to, but he was pretty sure he was going to go. Because Sefa expected him to. Because Sefa, and when she calmed down, probably even Jen wanted him to do this. And maybe he did owe it to himself to get to know his mother. "I'm too old for raspberry jam," he mumbled.

"I didn't know you had to be under a certain age to like raspberry jam," Sefa said. "I prefer strawberry myself, but I like raspberry, too."

Mox shook his head. "When you were talking with mom, I remembered it was a game my mother played with me. She would… blow raspberries on my stomach. She really could make them sound loud and juicy. And the vibrations would tickle, and you know, I was young… raspberries sound funny when you're young, like the worst farts ever."

"I dunno, I'm an adult and I find farts pretty funny," Sefa said. He still had his arm around Mox. "It sounds like that might have been a fun time for you back then."

"It was," Mox admitted. "She'd cuddle with me, snuggle and kiss my head. But we'd start by her chasing me around the apartment. I don't think we had much money. I was a little kid, but I remember that apartment as being tiny. She'd walk real slow, like a zombie or a bear that just woke up from the winter. And I'd hide and she'd find me and then it was raspberry jam and then she'd do the cuddling stuff. We didn't have much. I don't remember going out much, maybe to the park, but I think the park close to the apartment we lived in was not a good place to hang out. But I think when she wasn't…sick, she tried to make life as good as she could. But, I also think she got, uh, sicker as time went on."

"Well, she still has the disease," Sefa said. "Unfortunately, addiction isn't something you can just get better from. I know you did drugs when you were living with Dennis, but you didn't do them enough to get addicted, thank god. Your mother calls herself a recovering addict. Which means she's still an addict, but she doesn't do drugs anymore, so she doesn't get sick."

Mox nodded, then sighed. "I'll go," he finally said. "I'd rather not, but I'll go. I-I just wish I didn't have to go alone. They'll all know each other, but nobody knows me." He looked towards his father and said, only half kidding, "Can Roman come with me? Or maybe even Lance? I could fit Lance in a suitcase."

Sefa laughed and tousled his hair, using the hand that wasn't around him. "I don't think that's part of the bargain. But, I'll tell you what. If we can work it out, I'll go with you. I won't stay more than a day or so, and I'll get a hotel room so your birth mother doesn't have to worry about putting me up, or feel like I'm intruding. And, I'll use the excuse that I want to introduce you to Les and Cody myself and get you settled. Do you think that's a fair compromise?"

Mox pretended to ponder this, knowing it was the best he was going to get. He finally nodded. "Okay. I-I'd like that."

"And it's not like this is going to happen tomorrow," Sefa reminded him. "We still have some time before you'll be going. In the meantime, you and Roman can work out your fight for the belt. I know it was supposed to be last Saturday, but we'll have it this coming Saturday instead. That gives you a few extra days to work out the kinks and maybe cut another promo or two. You can come up with some paranoid rambling as to why the match was postponed this past Saturday and how it will happen this Saturday and nothing Roman or Marc can do will stop it."

"I swear, I will force Roman into that ring at gunpoint if I have to!" Mox said, as if he were doing a promo, eyes round and wide, that half crazy look he had down so well.

Sefa laughed and gave him another half hug. "You talk to Roman about that tomorrow. Probably after school, because it's getting late enough that I'm betting you might sleep in tomorrow. And we're going to let you. But I think we've kept Jen from going to bed long enough. So, why don't you go and say good night to her, and then go get some sleep?"

Mox nodded. He still wasn't thrilled about this, but his father was right. He needed to at least give his birth mother and her husband and his brother and sister a chance. "I'll bet she isn't as good of a cook as Mom is," he mumbled as the two of them got to their feet.

"Probably not," Sefa agreed. "But, who knows you might find there are some things she does better than Jen does."

"Yeah, but I'm too old for raspberry jam, remember?"

Sefa laughed and rumpled his hair.


	7. Chapter 7

**Fakeclaime r** **:** _The other day, I was hanging out in my house and my husband came up to me and said "Willow, you have to stop acting like a flamingo."_

 _That's when I knew it was time to put my foot down._

* * *

.

Chapter Seven

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

"Roman?" Lance whispered, standing by his brother's bed. "Roman, wake up."

Roman's eyes barely opened and he looked at his younger brother, not sure if this was a dream or reality. What he wanted to say was, "Did you have a bad dream, Pipsqueak?" but in his half awake state, what came out was a mumble that almost nobody would have understood.

Nobody, however, was not Lance and he shook his head. "Not a bad dream, I can't even sleep. And don't call me Pipsqueak."

"I won't, once you grow about six inches." Roman propped himself up on his elbow and yawned. "Is Mox sleeping?"

Lance nodded, glancing over to the bed, then back at Roman. "Can we talk?"

"Not without waking him up," Roman said, keeping his voice as low as possible.

"Can we go to my room?" Lance asked.

Part of Roman wanted to say no. It was a _school_ night, after all. And tomorrow might be Friday, but the nuns and "plainclothes" teachers at St. Anthony's didn't give a crap about TGIF. In fact, most of them seemed to take the attitude since they would have two days off, they'd better try to cram as much into their heads as possible on Fridays. On top of that, Saturday, he had the big match with Mox, who was almost paranoid that every moment of that match be carefully choreographed and any moment Roman was home and awake, if he wasn't eating or taking a leak, he ought to be in the ring with him, practicing.

But, another part of him had been expecting this, since they were told the news, Tuesday. Mox would be going to stay with his blood family for a few months, to see if he might even want to stay with them forever. _Why does Lance always need to have these deep conversations in the middle of the night?_ He sat up. "Yeah. Go to your room, I'll be there in a minute, just let me use the bathroom, first." _I can't blame him though. I haven't been thrilled about this either, but at least I try to do my pondering during the day._

 _._

* * *

.

Lance had the best bed in the house, and sometimes he felt guilty about it. It was one of those adjustable beds, double sized, with a high quality mattress. It had been a gift, given to him and in a way, his family, when he was on chemo for the second time. The really bad time, where he spent most of his time between treatments feeling horrible and the times when he didn't want to puke his guts out, being too tired to do much of anything. The bed was an anonymous gift, but Lance suspected it was from his Dad's former tag team partner, and Lance's Godfather, Uncle Aleki. He had been to visit a couple weeks before the bed was delivered and had seen the problems the family were having, using pillows and other things to prop Lance up when he was too weak to move. Prop him up to drink, least he get dehydrated, prop him up to watch TV, when he actually had enough energy to be able to concentrate and wanted to at least watch something. Prop him up to try to feed him, because keeping food down was hard, so he was fed very tiny amounts of food at several different times per day. All the things his family did so he hopefully wouldn't have to spend more time in the hospital. His parents had talked about renting a proper hospital bed, but that never seemed to happen. Uncle Aleki visited and right after he left, the bed was delivered. When Lance was sick, he recognized the bed as a useful tool for everyone, not just him. But now that he was better, sometimes he felt selfish, because this was an _awesome_ bed. He could sit up and watch TV or do his homework easily. The mattress itself could be adjusted to be soft or firm. This is why he willingly gave it up when his Grandmother came to visit, because she was _old_ and old people needed a good bed.

But, when someone came to talk to him in his room, sometimes it was nice to have this bed. Like now, when Roman came in and he could move over to the foot of the bed, and let Roman sit at the head, so he could raise the bed to lean against it while they talked. Lance knew it wasn't quite fair that he woke Roman up, so he was glad he could at least let Roman be comfortable. And the bed was big enough that if Roman fell asleep, Lance still had plenty of room to fall asleep next to him.

Roman adjusted the bed so he could be comfortable and yawned. "What's up, bro?"

Lance got right to the point. "I don't want Mox to leave."

Roman's smile was sympathetic. "Me either," he said.

"He _shouldn't_ leave," Lance said, realizing he sounded indignant, and glad it was Roman he was talking to, because Roman would understand. "I don't think he _wants_ to leave." Mox hadn't been there when their Dad broke the news, but ever since, even though Lance hadn't been able to bring himself to discuss it with Mox, he noticed Mox wasn't exactly jumping up and down with joy. In fact, Mox had been doing a lot of running of the ropes.

Roman sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I think he's probably mixed about this. I mean, that is his mother and his brother and sister he's going to see."

"So?" Lance had to fight to keep his voice from rising too high, and risk waking his parents or Mox up. " _They_ haven't been there for him. _We_ have been. And, Mox wants to be a wrestler and our place is a wrestling camp."

"Dad said he'd make sure he could keep training," Roman reminded him. "Not every wrestler gets to grow up in a wrestling camp."

Lance crossed his legs, in that style that people called "Criss-cross, applesauce," which he thought was stupid. What the heck did applesauce have to do with how he sat? He planted his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his palms. "I thought he was our brother," he muttered. "Not _theirs_."

Roman did smile at this, but he tried not to let it be too obvious. "He still _is_ our brother. He'll _always_ be our brother. Lance, it's only for a few months, why are you worried?"

"Because he might _stay_ there." Lance blurted out, confessing to both himself and his brother what had been bothering him since he found out. "We _tried_ , we all tried. What if we weren't _good_ enough?"

"Good enough," Roman murmured and stroked his chin, looking all thoughtful and stuff. A lot of people thought Roman was superficial, probably because he was a football player _and_ good looking. Lance had noticed that if someone seemed to have too much good going for them, that people liked to decide there had to be bad too, and it had to be a certain type of bad. Football players were stupid, good looking guys were stupid, pretty women were stupid or sluts. Smart kids were nerds, nerds were all ugly. It was all bullcrap. Roman might not be at his level, and Lance wasn't saying that to be insulting, Roman himself admitted that Lance was smarter than he was, but Roman wasn't stupid, either. Had Roman been less attractive and only a football spectator at his school, his thoughtfulness might be seen as deep. But, because he was good looking _and_ played football, people thought it meant he was stupid and had to think carefully before he said even simple things. "What do you think we did that wasn't good enough?"

Lance stared at his feet, where the toenail on one foot was starting to peel back from the skin. A side effect of chemotherapy. He'd been told that it would stop dying, and after he lost all his other fingernails and toenails, the new ones had all grown back fine, not even a discoloration like some people got. But this one nail, the left Piggy that didn't get any roast beef, kept dying and falling off. A new nail would be growing, underneath, but it was usually thin and frail for awhile. Then, it would get thicker and die. And it was kind of freaky, no matter how many times he'd seen it happen. "I might have made him feel stupid," he mumbled. "He'd asked me for help with his GED studies and I'd say, 'oh, that's easy.' Like maybe he felt I was saying he was stupid. And, I might have been a pest too. I went running with him a lot, and maybe he wanted to be alone."

Roman looked at him, his brows arching in surprise. "If you hadn't decided to try to catch up and go running with him Saturday, he might be dead. So why would Mox _ever_ think you were a pest over that?"

"I've showed him wrestling moves, too," Lance confessed. "Dad and Marc have taught him, but there were times when he was practicing, that I told him he was doing things wrong. Like how to get to your feet after a faceplant. He wasn't doing the elbow plant correctly, so I showed him how it was supposed to be done. Maybe he thought I was being a know-it-all."

"No, I don't think so," Roman said. "When it comes to wrestling, Mox wants to be the best. What did he say when you corrected him?"

Lance picked at the bad toenail, watching as it separated a little bit more from the one underneath. "He thanked me," Lance said. "He told me that he was worried he had it wrong because it didn't feel as right as it felt when Dad and Marc first showed him."

"That doesn't sound like an answer someone would give if you were being a know-it-all jerk," Roman said. "It sounds to me like the answer you give to someone that you know means to help you and you're grateful for the help."

"What if he was pretending, just to be nice?"

Roman smiled. "Lance, remember when Mox first came here? And Mom and Dad told you not to pester him about his past. But sometimes you just had to push it? Mox would say something, like his eyes were adjusting to sunlight easier, and you would start asking him a million questions about being raised mostly in the dark?"

Lance nodded, picking at the nail some more. He wasn't supposed to do this, and he noticed that if he let it fall off on its own, it didn't hurt as much. But, sometimes it was just so… _tempting_. "Yeah."

"Well, Mox would usually be cool, try to evade you, or ignore you. Several times, he'd leave the room and go find Mom or Dad, knowing that you wouldn't ask questions around them, because you promised." Roman's grin was lopsided. "And I recall one time he told you to stop asking questions and told you to eff the eff off."

Lance felt his shoulders slump as he remembered that time. Mox hadn't used the term eff, he'd said the word "Fuck" and while Lance wasn't that offended by the swearing, he'd known that he'd really messed up. "If this is a pep talk, it's not working," he muttered.

"Lance, I'm just trying to show you that if Mox was really pissed off at you, he had no problem letting you know. I know he was pissed off at me a few times. One time, he drove the end of his crutch into my kneecap and it hurt _really_ bad. So, yeah, Mox doesn't have a problem letting people know when he's had enough. If he really didn't want you to run with him, or have you show him wrestling things, he would have told you so. And if Mom and Dad weren't around, probably with a lot of swearing." Roman reached out and batted Lance's hand away from his foot. "Stop picking at that!"

Lance did not comment on his brother's scolding, but he did stop touching the nail, for now at least. "But what if his… other family is perfect?"

Roman chuckled at that remark. "Then they'll get on his nerves," Roman said. "Imagine living with perfect people? After awhile, it would be irritating. Because any time they irritated you, you would know it was _your_ fault, not theirs. Don't you think that after a while, you'd start trying to piss them off, trying to get them to make mistakes? Just because they were so irritatingly perfect?"

Lance thought about it, and finally nodded. "Yeah, I can see your point."

"And I doubt his brother and sister will be perfect. They're like six? Seven? And that's a really annoying age."

"When I was six you didn't think I was annoying," Lance reminded him.

"You were _sick,"_ Roman said. "And yeah, even though you were sick, there _were_ times when you were annoying. I just never let you know, because being mean to a sick kid who can't help it, is really jerky behavior. You got away with just about anything you wanted, because you were sick."

Lance couldn't help but smile at this. There were times when he took advantage of his sickness to see how far he could push people and to see how much they would let him get away with. "Yeah, I kinda did," he admitted, feeling slightly sheepish.

" _Kind of?_ " Roman snorted. "Remember when the WWF got the Make-A-Wish folks to visit you? And nobody had told them your last name, or if they did, the people didn't remember?"

Now Lance grinned an even more sheepish grin, remembering the incident. "Those Make-A-Wish folks could be _so_ patronizing. They kept saying my name. 'What would you like most in the world, Lance? What would make you happy, Lance?' He mimicked the woman who had sat in his hospital room, actually sat on the edge of his bed, which he had _not_ invited her to do and felt like an invasion of his personal space.

.

* * *

.

 _His whole family was there, along with Uncle Mark, AKA the Undertaker, and Mr. Nash. Both the WWF and the WCW were doing shows in the area, so a lot of wrestlers were stopping by to say hello. Mostly out of respect for his Dad, Lance was pretty sure, but he didn't mind the company. Most of the wrestlers were pretty cool. His room was full of balloons, because people didn't give sick little boys flowers. They gave them bright, happy, balloons. Lance would have rather they gave him better internet access, because the so-called wifi in his hospital room had been horrible. He was sick of balloons. He was sick of candy that he wanted to eat, but was too afraid he'd puke if he did. He was sick of ginger-ale and his parents always having those worry lines on their face. He was sick of Roman and Marc trying to pretend that a bald brother who spent most of his time in a hospital was normal. Even if Roman had shaved his head in solidarity for his brother, it looked kinda cool on Roman, because he wasn't pasty and sick with bruises under his eyes. It looked like Roman was making a choice. Lance looked like he was too sick to grow hair._

 _He was sick of being alive. If this was all life had to offer him, he was ready to go. If he couldn't run and play, and go to school and learn things, then what was the point?_

 _When the Make-A-Wish women came in, ("Hi there, Lance! I'm Betty, and this is my friend Annie!") they pissed him off instantly. Nobody was sitting on his bed, because they knew he didn't want to be jostled around, because it was one of those days where everything made his body hurt. If he'd been feeling up to people sitting on the bed, it would have been his Mom or Dad. But no, Betty just perched herself on his bed with a big grin, like nobody was ever allowed to be unhappy when she was around. She was the Make-A-Wish fairy, and kids were supposed to love seeing her._

 _His mother had drawn in a sharp breath when she sat on the bed, but hadn't said anything, probably afraid that Betty would leap up, which would hurt him further. Annie stood by the window, because there were no empty chairs in the room. As it was, Roman and Marc were standing too. He was lucky he didn't have a roommate or wasn't put in the ward. More people could visit him this way. "Well, Lance, I'm here to make your wish come true. Tell us what you would like, Lance, and we'll do our best to make it happen."_

 _It was the wrong day for this. Everyone knew it. His father looked ready to say something, but Lance spoke first. "I'd like to not have cancer," he said, as sarcastically as possible. "Do you think you could arrange that?"_

 _He thought Betty would be embarrassed, or at least realize that that claiming she could make his wish come true was stupid. But Betty was made of stronger and stupider stuff. She smiled at him, a smile that Lance bet she practiced in the mirror to make sure it had just the right touch of concern with a smidge of motherly compassion. "Oh Lance, trust me, if I could, I would do that for you," she said, in a voice so filled with compassion that it had turned on itself and become a parody. "But, sadly, I can't. But let's see if we can't come up with another wish that we can make come true for you. Is there a place you've always wanted to go? A person you have always wanted to meet?"_

 _Lance could feel everyone in the room stiffen as if preparing for Lance's response. Lance may have been young, but he knew he was having a foul day and he knew everyone in the room knew it too. He was sick of being The Cancer Kid. The WWF had wanted to turn him into a poster child for their generosity when it came to childhood cancer and that had infuriated him. At this point, Lance was pretty sure he was going to die and he was trying to get a grip on that. If he had to die, so be it, but he wanted to die feeling as much like himself as he could, and not The Cancer Kid. He didn't fully understand then, that chemo was most of the reason for why he felt so bad. He thought it was all the AML, that chemo was supposed to make him less sick. Had he known that chemo was the real culprit, he might have begged his parents to take him off all treatment and hopefully let him have some normal times. Lance had been so tired of not just being unable to do anything, but not even having the energy to want to do anything. So, he summoned up his strength and gave Betty his best "I know I'm dying, but I am trying so hard to be brave!" smile. People like Betty ate that up. Uncle Mark was standing behind Betty and Lance saw his eyes go wide as he looked at Lance, sensing that Lance was up to something. "Well," he began, then looked away from Betty, pretending to be shy. "There… there is one thing I'd like… but I don't think it's possible." He sniffled._

" _What is it?" Betty asked, frowning, again thinking he was going to ask for the impossible, like a way to end to one of his symptoms._

" _Well, there is a wrestler…" Lance said, brows furrowed, still giving Betty the sad, sad, eyes. "I-I've always wanted to meet him. But he's retired and I don't think he wants to be in the limelight anymore, so I'm not sure he'll be willing to do this."_

 _He saw Uncle Mark's eyes grow even rounder as if he guessed exactly what was happening. And he raised his hand to his mouth and started rubbing his cheeks as if pondering something._

" _Who is it?" Betty eagerly asked. She had a big, three ring notebook on her lap, and she opened it up. Lance guessed it was probably all the names and contact information of every celebrity who was willing to do this Make-A-Wish thing._

" _Nathan Reigns," Lance said. "He was part of one of the greatest tag teams ever, Samoan Pride. And… I'm half Samoan. It would be_ such _an honor to meet him." He looked down at the blankets as a strangled noise came from Uncle Mark and and a variety of snuffled back snorts came from Mr. Nash and most of his family. "But, I don't think he'd be willing to meet me. I mean, I'm just a kid who's dying. Of_ _ **cancer."**_

 _Betty started flipping through her notebook, heading to the R's no doubt, when his dad spoke up. "Uh, that's me," he said, and Lance knew he was trying not to laugh. "My son is having one on you."_

 _That's when Uncle Mark, both his brothers and Mr. Nash let out various snorts of laughter. As soon as they did, everyone but Uncle Mark choked back that laughter. Not Uncle Mark. He let out a sharp laugh that filled the room. It wasn't long, but it was obvious. He might as well have said, "Ha ha, the kid got you bad!" to Betty. His laugh triggered something in the room, because suddenly, neither Mr. Nash, Marc or Roman could stop themselves. They all burst out laughing for a lot longer than Uncle Mark. And even though he couldn't see her, Lance just knew his mother was staring daggers at both of them. Especially Roman, because he was her son, but even Mr. Nash wasn't going to get away from Mom's stink eye._

" _Well, maybe this is a bad day," Betty said, standing up, which jostled him enough so his hips and his legs hurt again. And Lance could tell that while she was still smiling and acting all friendly, she was irritated. Lance had made a fool out of her and she wasn't going to forget that any time soon. "I'll just come back another time, when you're feeling better."_

 _It was on the tip of Lance's tongue to say this was about as "better" as it got, but something in his mind told him to show some mercy. "Actually, if you can, I'd love a chance to go to a research lab," he said and this time he was sincere. "Where they do research on cancer. I'd like to meet at least one research scientist and find out more about cancer and what they're doing to try to help kids so hopefully, in the future, they won't have to deal with this."_

 _._

* * *

 _._

Lance had to give Betty credit. She didn't stay long, she nodded and her and Annie, who hadn't said much beyond hello, booked it out of the room, and Lance thought he'd seen the last of Make-A-Wish, but a couple months later, when he was actually feeling better, he was invited to visit one of the the Florida Cancer Specialists research labs. And they didn't treat him like some poster child for cancer, the scientists were really cool and answered his questions. "Make-A-Wish Betty turned out to be okay after all," Lance admitted. "And yeah, I know I was being a jerk, but I was having a bad day."

"We knew that," Roman said, yawning and relaxing further into the bed. "But I'm just saying, even you, the kid that was too weak to cause that much trouble all the time, you could be a brat. Imagine what two _healthy_ kids are going to do to Mox."

Lance smiled, feeling a little better, but not completely reassured. "What though… I mean, what if he does want to stay with them? I mean, we can't stop him."

"No, we can't," Roman admitted. "But I don't think that will be a problem."

"Why?"

"I don't know, call it a gut feeling. I mean, he at least has to come back once, and let me win the belt back… well, hopefully not _me_ , another _real_ wannabe wrestler at the camp. This whole camp has a belt thing is _way_ too popular." Roman paused to yawn again. "But, I know Mox is family. _He_ knows he's family. I know he loves us as family and we love him as family. He's not going to abandon us. The 'worst' thing I can see him doing is splitting time between both families. And to be honest, Squeak, I can't be unhappy for him if that happens."

"Why?" Lance asked. "And don't call me Squeak! It's just short for Pipsqueak."

"Nothing gets by you, does it?" Roman grinned. "Because if he wants to split time between both families, it means he loves and is loved by both families. And after the…. well, _shitstorm_ he grew up in, Mox deserves to have two families that love him." Roman paused to shake his head a bit, no doubt to chase the sleep away a little longer. "He's not going to forget us. He's not going to abandon us. And, maybe this is a good thing for you."

" _Me?"_ Lance's head reared back in surprise. "How is this good for me?"

"Because you've never had to worry about saying goodbye. You tell me you believe that when we die, we just stop existing. Our energy goes into other things," Roman sat forward, crossing his legs under him and Lance tried not to think about 'Criss-cross, applesauce,' because it sounded so stupid. "And even though I don't like to talk about it, I _know_ how close we came to losing you. And I know how ready you were to go. I was trying to prepare myself to say goodbye to you, forever. All of us were, but _you_ weren't. You were just going to stop. No pain anymore for you, which I got completely, because you were in a lot of pain. But you believe you would just… stop. That isn't really saying goodbye, it's just fading out. You wouldn't have to exist in a world without us. But we'd have to say goodbye because we'd have to go on in a world without you. So, I think you've never learned to say goodbye. Not for long periods of time. Marc ended up moving home to help Dad with SPWA, and you know he's likely to stay here, even if he does finally manage to pick one woman to love and marry. And you were a baby when Marc was off trying to make a name in the indies, so it isn't like you missed him. But, someday I'm going to go to college. And I want to go out of state. I'm hoping I get a lot of scholarship offers, but I'm sorta hoping for Georgia Tech. But, I doubt I'll be close to home. That means most of the year, I won't be here. Then, when I graduate, if I do go pro, I could end up anywhere in the United states." He paused, then added, "Or, even Canada, because yeah, they have soccer _and_ US style football."

"Canada has everything," Lance agreed.

"Like ice and snow and a lot of winter," Roman said.

"Like universal health care," Lance countered. "If we lived in Canada, you might not have to fight so hard to get a scholarship. They don't say it, but I know Mom and Dad ended up spending all the college fund money they put aside for us on me."

"True," Roman agreed. "But, if I really didn't want to play football and win a scholarship, I know Nonnie would pay for college. But it's a pride thing. If Mom and Dad have been able to go back to building up a college fund, I hope they can save it all for you."

Lance snorted. "Me? You think I'm _not_ going to get a scholarship?"

Roman shrugged. "Okay, yeah, with your grades and smarts? Probably."

"Probably?" Lance rolled his eyes. "Ivy League all the way, baby. Harvard, Yale, or Princeton."

"Oh, my brilliant brother, which _shal_ l you pick?" Roman asked, in mock awe.

"One with a decent Indie promotion close by," Lance said confidently. "I still hope to be a wrestler."

"Nonnie will call that a waste of talent," Roman said.

"Nonnie can say what she wants," Lance said. "I want to wrestle. At least for awhile. Dad was a huge wrestler. I want him to be able to see one of his sons get to the big time, like WWF and sadly, Mr. Football, it won't be you. It might be Mox, but I'd like it to be me, too."

"Maybe you can both be in the WWF at the same time," Roman suggested, grinning. "You can both form a tag team and work together."

Lance thought about that, and smiled. "I'd like that! Maybe even get another wrestler or even a couple more, and become a stable. Like the Four Horsemen were or something."

"Sounds like a plan," Roman said. "And I'll be a big football player, maybe even playing for the Dolphins. And they'll _beg_ me to host Wrestlemania one year, because that's how great of a football player I am. And I'll pretend to think about it, but I'll say yes, because my brothers are there."

"And we'll think you're being a pompous arse who thinks he's better than anyone else because he's a big _football_ player, so me and the stable will come out when you're playing host and beat the _crap_ out of you." Lance said.

"That will work," Roman said. "Because you'll be the best heel team the WWF has ever seen."

"And that's the moment we'll turn face," Lance taunted. "Because you will be so… _you_. You'll be talking about how great it is to host Wrestlemania, and how even though you are a huge football star, you still have roots in wrestling, and how much you respect and admire it, and how honored you are just to be there. You will be boring as heck and we will run down and beat you up just to get you to stop and the audience will _love_ us for it. And by that one act alone we will go from being the best _hee_ l stable the WWF has ever seen, to the best _face_ stable the WWF has ever seen."

"Wow, you really know how to wound a guy, don't you." Roman clutched at his heart, pretending to be hurt.

"Yes," Lance agreed. "But _think_ about it. Can you see it?"

Roman pondered it for a moment, rubbing his chin, then shrugged. "Sadly, yeah, I could."

"Don't worry," Lance said. "It'll just be in Kayfabe. And you know how to roll with it. When we're all backstage, we'll go back to liking you again."

"Well, thank God for that," Roman said, then yawned one of those yawns so huge that Lance could see all his teeth, even the far back molars. "Are you feeling any better, now?" he asked.

Lance shrugged. "I still don't want him to go," he muttered.

"Neither do I," Roman admitted. "But it won't be goodbye forever. He could end up with two families, but one of his families will always be us."

"Not by blood," Lance sighed.

"Bro, we're Samoan and Italian," Roman smirked. "A combination of two races that are known for their generous hearts and their love of bringing outsiders they care about into the family fold. Mox may be the typical European Descended American, but he's Samoan and Italian too. Because he's family."

"A DNA test will see things differently," Lance pointed out.

"A DNA test doesn't make someone family," Roman counter. "It's heart."

Lance really couldn't argue with that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Fakeclaimer** : I figured the other day, that I needed something to help me with my writing, so I decided to buy a dictionary. I know, there are millions of dictionaries online, but I wanted one of those big, old, heavy ones that you set up on its very own book stand. So, I went out to the used book store, and saw this dictionary. It was the perfect book! Large, intimidating, heavy to pick up, and had a blue leather binding. So, without checking it carefully, I bought it and ran home. I got out my book stand and set it up, and opened it.

The pages were blank.

Now I'm furious. I literally have no words.

* * *

.

 **Chapter Eight**

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

The arena at the Samoan Pride Wrestling Academy was packed to the rafters. The place was usually fairly full, on their Saturday night shows, simply because they were 100% free to attend. But this was more than a crowd looking for a cheap Saturday Night date, this was a following. This was people who had been coming regularly since the start of a storyline and were going to follow it to its conclusion.

Which was happening right now.

It was the main event. Roman Reigns vs. Jon Moxley for the SPWA belt. Mox and Roman had been in the ring for a little over twenty minutes, going back and forth on who had the upper hand. The last five minutes or so, Roman was the man in the lead.

The reaction of the crowd was mixed, but the vast majority wanted Mox to win. Almost every guy in the audience certainly seemed to, by the deeper sounding booing every time Roman was able to show strength over Mox. Roman was the annoying guy who had everything. He was the son of the owner of the camp, he was good looking, his promos were all about the honor of the academy and how he had to keep holding this belt to continue to show the world that the Reigns family were wrestling royalty.

Mox, on the other hand, was the scrappy, slightly crazy guy who claimed in promos that he'd grown up with nothing and how this belt was his first chance to have something in his life. To have earned _the_ award. When the storyline began, Roman was set as the face, Dean as the heel, but the lines began to blur pretty fast. Roman's character evolved into the Company Guy. Marc was playing the suit wearing academy manager, and he had been protecting Roman from Mox. Making sure Mox had to fight a variety of other wrestlers, the bigger and more powerful appearing, the better. While putting Roman up against wrestlers who were obviously supposed to job to him, the tinier and skinnier the better. But Mox had kept at it, attempting to interfere with every single match Roman was in. Marc attempted to do the same for Roman, but only if it looked like Mox was going to win. Still, Mox had managed to get a title shot.

 _Even the way Mox got it, made Roman look like Dudley Do-right,_ Sefa thought as he watched the fight in the back. He had his headset on so he could communicate with the referee and the announcers. Mox had gotten his shot at the title, because at the last event, after Roman won to one of the academy students who oversold his loss to the roof, Roman announced as if bestowing a huge favor on the world, that he would finally allow Mox to have his title match.

To give credit where it was due, Roman had done an excellent job of acting as if he was bestowing this huge favor out of the goodness of his heart, that all chanting people were doing, yelling "Mox-Mox-Mox!" over and over again, every time Roman dared to be fighting anyone _but_ Mox had nothing to do with it. He'd even used the line, "I'm a big enough man to give the underlings a chance."

And now it all came down to this. Roman was giving it to Mox and Mox was in the corner, looking weaker and weaker with every second and the crowd was booing.

Roman grabbed Mox by the hair and appeared to haul him to his feet. Then he grabbed Mox by the arm, yanked him into the center of the ring, and pushed him to the floor. Mox fell onto his back and didn't move.

Mox also had blood coming out of his nose and Sefa was none too happy about that. Mox had walked into a punch he should have pulled back from, Sefa had watched it. And he'd seen the look of horror cross Roman's face for a mere second, before he caught himself sneered at Mox instead. _Gonna have to talk to you about that one, Mox._

Now Roman stood above Mox and gave the audience such an arrogant look that Sefa almost wanted to run out and punch him himself. _Wow, you really have it in you,_ he thought as if he could speak to his middle son with telepathy. _Which is good, because Mox is such a natural, if you didn't pull your weight in this storyline, Mox would have had to carry it all. I think he would have done it too, but since this is his first storyline, I'm glad he didn't have to. And I think he's the one that helped bring you out into your role in this._

Roman grandstanded as if he had all the time in the world, getting the audience angrier and angrier. Finally, he walked over to Mox, and dropped almost gracefully to the mat, as if he was still fresh as a daisy in the morning dew, just as he and Mox had practiced. He slowly and deliberately put Mox in the pin position.

As the referee slid to Roman and Mox, Sefa pressed the button that allowed his voice to be heard by the ref. "Don't fuck this up," he ordered. "Drop the signal this is it."

The referee raised his hand and not rapidly, but just a slight bit faster than he might have, started the count to three. As he was about to slam his hand for the three count, a scream rose above the other shouting, which it should, because the woman screaming was deliberately sat near a microphone that Sefa had just turned on.

"Nooooo!" The girl screamed as if heartbroken.

 _If she doesn't make it as a wrestler, she could be a ring announcer,_ Sefa thought, _She's got a voice that carries well._ This was one of his female wrestling students.

The scream was so loud that the referee raised his head and looked as if distracted. Even Roman, still in pin position, lying across Mox's chest looked toward the sound of the cry.

That's when Mox raised his head and appeared to slam it into Roman's chest, lifting Roman off of him. Roman stayed on his knees, staring at Mox as if he were the Beast That Would Not Die, and Mox staggered to his feet, and looked about as if dazed.

That's when Roman looked as if he'd had enough of this. Instead going after Mox directly, he ran to the ropes, bounced off them as if giving himself some momentum and started to lower his head as if planning on giving him a spear. That was his finishing move, spear, which made sense because his real love was football and a spear was pretty much a tackle. But, as he headed to Mox, Mox suddenly began to look a little more lively. He hooked his arm around Roman's waist and spun him around, then sent him flying to the floor.

"MOXICITY!" the announcer doing color shouted. "Roman just got hit by _Moxicity!"_

Moxicity was another name for a Spinning Side Slam, and it was Mox's finisher. The audience gasped. There was a moment of pure silence then, as everyone waited for Roman to get up and go after Mox again.

Roman stayed down.

Even Mox looked startled by this, but unlike Roman, he wasted no time grandstanding.

Mox fell to his knees, hooked his arm under one of Roman's leg and fell across him. The referee, who had barely stood up, dropped to his knees again and started to count. This time a bit slower. "One!" pause, pause, pause. "Two!" pause, pause, pause, pause. Then, reluctantly brought his hand down. "Three!"

Mox staggered to his feet. Roman didn't move a muscle, he stayed on the mat, looking dead to the world.

And even though Mox had known he was supposed to win, it was still a thrill. Because in some ways, when he was fighting it was as if he forgot. Because Sefa could have changed his mind and had the referee tell him he was going to lose. It wouldn't be the first time a last minute change was made in wrestling. But the timekeeper brought the belt over, the referee accepted it, and handed it to Mox. Then the ring announcer, a pretty dark haired woman wrestler with a very enthusiastic voice, called out, "You're winner, and the New SPWA champion… _Jon Moxley!_ "

There was a little bit of soprano booing, as the teenage girls that had all been crushing on Roman expressed their dismay, but the cheering soon drown it out and became almost deafening.

The referee raised his arm, the one clutching the belt. When he did, Mox felt a fresh spurt of blood trickle out his nose and fall on his lips like melted red lipstick. He drew in a deep breath and let out a scream of victory.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

At that precise moment, many miles away, Donna Ambrose Miller was talking with her husband. The kids were asleep and they were in the kitchen, drinking mint tea. As she dunked her tea ball into the cup of hot water, she frowned.

Jacob looked over at her. "Something's is on your mind, Donna. Are you going to tell me, or just brood about it?"

"I thought I'd brood more," Donna said, with a wry grin, then shook her head. "You know me too well."

"Yes, I do," Jacob said with a faint grin. "And yet I married you anyway." When she shot him a squint eyed look, he laughed then grew serious. "What _is_ on your mind? And why do I have a feeling it has to do with Dean coming to stay with us?"

"It does," Donna admitted. "Sefa says he shares a room with Roman. But I really don't want to have him sharing a room with Zach." She paused, realizing how that might sound, and shook her head. "I don't mean that to sound like I don't trust Dean, I do. But I'm afraid that Zach will be resentful that his long lost brother comes here and he's got to give up half of his room."

Jacob nodded. "I was thinking the same thing." Their house wasn't huge, but just fine for the four of them. "If he ends up living here on a regular basis, I was thinking maybe we could finish off the attic for him, but for this trial? I was thinking we could let him use the office."

The house they lived in was built in the '70 to be fairly inexpensive housing, fitting for the area. But in the '80s, the property had belonged to a family who, for whatever reasons, added a larger master bedroom downstairs, with a good sized private bathroom. There were three bedrooms upstairs, but one was so tiny that it had become Jacob's office It had a futon sofa in it, for when they had guests, some book shelves, but the predominant piece of furniture was a huge desk with a computer. It was where Jacob hid to work on his book. The book he had been supposedly writing for years, that Donna suspected might never be finished, but it was his hobby and she didn't begrudge him. "I really appreciate it," she said. "But what do we do about your desk? You're still going to want to write and I don't want Mox to feel we're stuffing him into that room like an afterthought."

Jacob stroked his chin thoughtfully as he sipped his tea. "We could bring the desk down here. We have room in the bedroom, so I could write there while he's visiting. We can get an inexpensive dresser that will take up less room than the desk. And, the futon has hardly been used. Do you think he can deal with a futon instead of a real bed?"

Donna nodded. "Sefa says he has a single bed at their place. At least the futon is full sized. And it does have a good mattress. I think he can handle that. When it's folded down to a bed, it doesn't look that much like a futon."

"And, there's that nightstand in the basement," Jacob reminded her. "I know it was Amber's during her purple and pink phase, but that's nothing a couple coats of paint can't fix. I'll paint it black or brown or something, that will work."

Donna smiled. "Thank you," she said, reaching out and putting her hand over his. "It's not that I want to come across like we're so much better than the Reigns are. But, they have a hell of a lot of advantages right out of the gate. I'd like to try to even the score a little bit." She didn't mention that Sefa, who she had been exchanging email with, had told her that the bedroom Dean shared with Roman had a private bathroom for the two boys, and now Dean would have to share a bathroom with two small children, one of them a girl who even though she was six, somehow managed to clutter the room with her child nail polish (that washed off easily) all her different lip balms. Amber was an active, athletic, girl, but that did not make her a tomboy by any means. Donna was already afraid that by the time she got into her teens, Amber would have to get herself a full time job to pay for the clothing and makeup addiction she was bound to develop.

"We'll tell Amber she's got to clean up some of her clutter in the bathroom," Jacob said, as if he could read her mind. "Poor Zach hardly has room for his toothbrush. And we'll start tomorrow, so hopefully, she won't associated it with Dean's arrival."

Donna smile. She and Jacob had their moments, every couple did, but it was times like this when she knew exactly why she married him. "I can't wait for him to come," she confessed. "I'm worried, I'm concerned, but mostly, I can't wait to see him again. Because he's my boy, and he's _alive._ And for so many years, I really thought he wasn't."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Roman didn't mind giving up the belt at all. He had enjoyed wearing it, enjoyed being the champion, and now he was looking forward to being pissed off that Mox had the belt.

He _had_ been looking forward to the rematch, where he would still not get the belt. But not anymore. Because Mox would retain the belt on Saturday, May 1st. And the next day, he would be heading off to Cincinnati Ohio. And he'd been cool enough with Lance, but deep down he was worried too. He'd gotten used to this slightly younger, naive and unusual brother whose love of wrestling made him seem more like a member of the family than Roman was. Yeah, Mox had his strange quirks, like he hated the smell of cologne and he wasn't fond of crowds and bright lights, but if you considered his background that was actually pretty minor. Roman hadn't been all that sure about him when he'd come to live with them and now it was hard to imagine life without him.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Sefa didn't really feel guilty about exchanging email with Donna. But he did feel a little guilty about not telling Jen about it. It wasn't that he wanted to keep secrets from his wife, but he knew Jen too well.

She had gotten over the Mama Bear protecting her cubs phase over Mox, and admitted that Donna's plan was more than fair. She even admitted to him that if the situation had been reversed, she might not have been nearly so kind about waiting until Mox had finished business here before going. But that didn't mean she was going to want to email Donna with some of Mox's favorite recipes. And Sefa understood that. But he also understood that Donna was reaching out, trying to to find things out about her flesh and blood. And that she realized that even though they were flesh and blood, she and Mox were strangers.

The time was slipping fast. Plane reservations had already been made and paid for. Donna had insisted on paying for Sefa's flight, which had surprised him. But, he wouldn't let her pay for the rental car or the hotel room. She tried to offer to let him stay at the house, but he wouldn't allow that, either. He wouldn't be there long, just two nights. Enough time to introduce Mox to Cody and Les, and make sure Les would honor his promise that the kid could work there and be trained.

He stared at the computer screen where Donna's latest email was up on the screen. She had been asking him his favorite colors, favorite breakfast foods, favorite lunch foods, favorite desserts. Did he have a driver's license? (Jen and Sefa had been planning on taking him for a learner's permit, but hadn't yet. Should they get him a bicycle for transportation? (Sefa wasn't sure the kid knew how to ride a bike.) Question after question, and at first Sefa tried to answer them, but it hit him now what she was really doing. She was asking the same question in a thousand different ways. "What will make him happy? What can I do?"

So, instead of answering her questions about what type of drinks he liked, he hit the reply and started writing:

 _Donna,_

 _I know that what you want most is for the kid to be happy. I'm going to suggest one thing. Try to call him Mox, at least to start with. He knows that legally his name is Dean Ambrose, but we got him temporary id as Jon Moxley and he's making that his wrestling name. He's used to being Mox. You might be able to get away with calling him Dean, but if you really want to make the kid feel more comfortable from the start, don't change his name. Let him be Mox._

As he hit send, his eyes fell to the date on the corner of the computer, the date was looming so much closer.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Jen was a little more computer savvy than Sefa realized. Lance had been giving her computer lessons to help her with the bookkeeping for the camp. He'd gotten a new laptop for Christmas and had fixed up his old one for her and she used it as her business computer.

But, sometimes it was easier to just run into Sefa's "Office" a tiny room that he hardly used, but Roman often did for his homework. Mox had used it a lot more for his GED studies, until he got his own laptop.

She knew Sefa was emailing Donna. The "Family" computer automatically booted to Sefa's user profile, which meant that his email account was accessible to anyone. And Jen regularly checked Sefa's email to make sure things that were supposed to come to her, weren't going to him, which happened from time to time. And she had seen Donna's emails. Her email name was donnaamiller, it wasn't too hard to figure out. The first time she saw they were emailing, she didn't hesitate, she opened up the emails and read them and had been reading them ever since. Along with Sefa's replies.

She realized the emails were all about Jon, his likes and dislikes. And a lot of Sefa's responses were along the lines of "I don't know." or, "He likes my wife's cinnamon rolls."

She saw the latest one where Sefa suggested she should call Jon, Mox. That one got to her. Sefa didn't suggest Donna call him _Jon_ , he suggested _Mox_. Sefa was trying to make sure that Jon still had two mothers. Maybe Donna would someday get away with calling him Dean, but Jen had a feeling she was always going to be the only one to call him Jon.

Jen sighed and forwarded a lot of the emails to her account. Then she changed user profiles. signed into her email account hit the "Compose" button and put donnamiller as the recipient:

 _Dear Donna,_

 _You don't know me, but you know of me. I'm Jen Reigns, Sefa's wife and I've been Jon's foster mother._

 _You have been asking my husband a lot of questions, and the things you have asked, he's had trouble answering. So, let me help._

 _Jon is not a picky eater, but I have been feeding him a diet that is high in protein and high in complex carbs, because he does a lot of physical exercise and bodybuilding. Yes, he does like some sweets, but I wouldn't say he has a sweet tooth. The Sunday cinnamon rolls and an occasional homemade cookie are usually all he eats for sweets in a week. On special occasions he does like cake. But mostly, for sweets, he prefers oranges, apples, grapes, and other fruits. He likes many vegetables, but he prefers fresh vegetables to canned ones. He will eat canned vegetables if that's what is on the table, and he doesn't complain._

 _He hasn't expressed a favorite color, but I know for clothing, he has a tendency to pick colors like brown, black, navy, burgundy, clothing my youngest son jokes "Covers the entire manic depressive rainbow." But, I've seen him drawn to colors like blue and green. But with green, he likes greens the color of grass or darker. He dislikes the color yellow. He won't say anything but he did ask me once if he could have a toothbrush in any color but yellow._

 _He's very careful about brushing his teeth. And he likes to be clean and showers daily, if he can. He will change his sheets twice a week if he can, but he's willing to wash them himself if you show him how to use the washer and dryer. He is used to making up beds for our campers and he can make precise military corners. He will do this for his own bed, too._

 _He likes to be helpful. He isn't one of those kids who thinks that there is guy work and girl work, he will help out however is needed._

 _He is studying for his GED online. We have told him he should take a break when he first gets to you, but he will want to keep up enough so he doesn't forget things. He's smarter than he likes to give himself credit for. He does have his own laptop, but he'll need some time for that._

She ended up writing the longest email she ever had written in her life, and at the end she told Donna she could email her or even call her, if there was a problem.

She didn't want Jon to stay with Donna and her family. She wanted Jon to come home to them. So, while her first reaction had been to ignore the emails, she also knew that she wanted what was best for Jon. Donna had a few strikes against her already, because Jon had been told the entire time he'd been held captive, that his mother had sold him. It wasn't fair to leave her completely clueless. If Jon came home, Jen wanted to make sure she'd been as fair as possible.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Lance had a journal he kept on his computer. He had started it when he was in treatment for AML and tried to write something every day. He had a whole lot of entries that said nothing but "Too tired to write" or "Chemo sucks" but on days when he was able to, he wrote more.

He had been such a kid when he started it, that he thought it was great fun to play with with the colors. Font colors and background colors.

When things were bad, he would give his pages a black background with a blood red font. On good days, he did a light blue background with a black colored font. And even though he knew it was immature and silly, he continued doing it. He had both styles saved in the word processing program he used, but the automatic default was the blue background.

On this particular night, he brought up the usual style, then looked in the corner of his laptop and frowned. He pulled up the other background. He was tired, it had been a long day in school and when he got home, he felt like his brain was hurting, so he had worked out to burn it off. But he wanted to write something:

 _Mox leaves this coming Sunday and that sucks._

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

"Would it bother you if I came to the show this Saturday?" Noella asked.

Marc looked up at her. They were on his couch, his head was in her lap and she had been stroking his hair. They were supposedly watching Friends, and maybe Noella actually was, but Marc was thinking about when the show was over, when things would heat up and move into the bedroom. Of all the things she could have said to him, Marc wasn't expecting this one. "Sure," he said. "Any particular reason? You've never wanted to come to the shows before."

She looked down at him, some of her hair, falling over her shoulders. "I know," she said. "But this is Mox's last show for awhile, here at least. I've watched some of it on my computer. I've heard you talk about it. I'd like to see your brothers wrestle together while I have a chance."

Marc kept his eyes locked on hers. "You're also worried that this show is going to bother me," he said softly. "You want to be there for support, because you know I'm not happy Mox is leaving."

"Don't read too much into it," she said. "I just thought I would like to see the show, rather than show up when it's over."

She was over here quite a lot lately, Marc had noticed and he hadn't minded. He had made a few hints that maybe they should consider their relationship to be exclusive, but she had evaded them. He wondered now, if this was a hint from her that she might be getting warmer to the idea of having an exclusive relationship. "You are welcome to come to any show you want. You are welcome to come over to my place any time you want. I've even got an extra key I can give you."

She was still looking at him. "Oh? With the number of women you're known for having over, I don't think that's going to work very well. Unless you want to have some college roommate situation, like if I find a necktie on the door knob, don't come in."

"If you accept the key, I won't ever have to put a necktie on the door," he said.

She paused in her stroking of his hair but her expression stayed neutral. "Someday, I want to have that conversation with you, but that day is not today."

Marc's brow furrowed. "What's wrong with today?"

"Ask me again in November or so," Noella said, her voice soft. "When everything is decided with Mox and if he stays with his blood mother, you and your family have had the time to get used to it, or if he comes back that everything is back to normal."

"Noella, this isn't some twisted attempt to pull closer to you, because my foster brother is going off to stay with his other family. I mean, I'll miss him, but it's not like I've known him for that long. And it's not like he'll vanish forever, even if he does stay with Donna and her husband. He's _still_ family, and he'll _still_ be coming back to visit."

"November," she said again. "Perhaps Thanksgiving weekend. I know the camp is quiet then, because of the holiday. You ask your father if you can have that weekend off. We'll go somewhere for the weekend, just the two of us. And on Monday? When we're sitting on a beach or on the front porch of a cabin in the woods? You ask me again if I want that key."

"But-" he started to say, but she leaned over and started kissing him, and instead of stroking his hair, she started unbuttoning his shirt. Which ended that conversation.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Since becoming the SPWA champion, Mox the wrestler had become a little cockier, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He had enjoyed playing the hard luck kid, it was challenging, but not impossible for him to play the slightly arrogant kid that had made it to the top and now thought he was unstoppable. His few matches after Roman had been with various guys and Mox managed to beat them all, as if winning had given him an arrogant and unbeatable confidence.

Roman had not fought much at all these last few shows, but he made it clear he was coming for the belt. Mox taunted him, telling him any time, any place, but Roman was pleading injury, which Marc was verifying. Of course he'd been hurt! Mox had gone over and beyond what he should have when he won the belt. Unnecessary roughness, which made the crowd hate them a little bit more. Mox hadn't done anything worse than what Roman had done. Didn't Roman give him that bloody nose? Roman wasn't bleeding at the end, Mox was.

But, Mox was crossing the line, becoming a little _too_ arrogant. Which he proved on his last Saturday night. He beat Roman again to retain the belt, but instead of doing Moxicity, he used a Spear. It was a totally conceited move on his part, another way to jab it into Roman that he couldn't beat Mox. It didn't matter that Roman was the son of the owner, it didn't matter that Roman had the manager of the place, his older brother helping him win. He couldn't beat Mox. And what better way to prove it to him, by using his own finisher against him.

Mox speared him right up against the ring post, where Roman whammed his back into it and then fell forward on his stomach. Mox fell beside him, rolled him over onto his back and pinned him.

Roman didn't even flinch. The three count happened and the moment it was over, Mox didn't look around in shock as he had the first time he'd pinned Roman. This time he leaped to his feet and glared at the ref, who hurried over to the edge to accept the belt from the timekeeper. There was a lot of cheering for Mox, with that thin layer of booing from girls near Roman's age. But Mox could have sworn, there might be a little bit of booing from some of the guys too. Not much, but a little. That was just fine with Mox. He took his belt, and laid it over his shoulder. Then he motioned to the announcer's table. Someone ran up with a microphone and held it out to him. Mox snatched it from their hands.

"Once again, I proved to all of you, that I am the _only_ fitting champion of the Samoan Pride Wrestling Academy!" he roared into the mic.

Most of the crowd cheered wildly and Mox gave them all his biggest, Mox grin. Then his eyes narrowed. "And being the only fitting champion, I've realized that there are no others worthy of me in this entire place! Not _one person_ can beat me!"

The cheering was still there, but slightly less. The crowd that had been booing continued to boo, but some of the cheering became silence.

"So, it's time for me to say goodbye to all of you _losers_ ," Mox continued. "I'm taking this belt and I'm leaving this place and I'll find folks that are worthy of me, worthy to fight me… this camp doesn't _deserve_ to have a belt! It's _mine!"_

There was a stunned silence. Leave? With the belt? Who did that? Was this a joke?

Mox slid out of the ring, belt still over his shoulder. He marched up the ramp and disappeared into the back.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

When he got backstage, Sefa grinned, but it wasn't the usual grin he got from Sefa after he had put on a good match. There was an air of sadness about it. It didn't surprise Mox, he felt the say way. "I don't have to take the belt with me," Mox said. "I can leave it here. You can give it to someone else. Maybe have another ladder match for it?"

Sefa shook his head. "It was yours and Roman's idea to make that belt more than just a prop for some matches, to turn it into a real camp champion belt. And even Roman admits it was your idea more than his. You've _earned_ that belt. Take it with you to Heartland and kick their asses and when the time is right, you can bring it back home."

"Home" Mox said slowly, and the word expressed the sadness he was feeling.

"This will always be home," Sefa said. "Even if you decide to stay in Ohio, this will always be your home too." We're family and family is always there for you, even when you go out into this world."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Thank you for reading this. More thanks if you Favored or Followed it. An extra helping if you took the time to leave me feedback, it is so greatly appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

**Fakeclaimer:** _Yes, I'm publishing a little earlier than I normally do. I normally don't update until Friday or Saturday. But, I had something I had to say in my author's notes, so I decided to publish today, just to get it out there, so I can move on. Because it's been bothering me all week, making it impossible for me to write_ **.**

* * *

.

Chapter Nine

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Mox recognized Donna the moment he and Sefa came down the stairs to the baggage area. They were on the third to the last stair when he saw her and he froze.

Yesterday, he could not have told you what she looked like. Even up until now, he thought he had forced her appearance out of his mind forever. When he did have those vague memories of her, her face was always blurry. But now that he actually saw her, he not only recognized her, but he knew she was looking a lot older than she had eleven years ago, when he was taken. He was barely aware that the folks behind him were startled and not happy that he'd stopped the progress, as the flight they had been on had been sold out and thus a lot of folks were trying to get down these stairs. Before he could stop himself, one word came to his lips, his heart, and his mind.

"Mommy."

It was said as the faintest of whispers, but Sefa stopped too, one stair down from Mox and turned to him, also ignoring the folks giving them dirty looks as they streamed around them. "Are you okay?"

Mox nodded and swallowed. Her hair was a little different. Where it used to be like his, a cross between blond, red, and brown, it was now a straight auburn color. But the blue eyes were the same. _Why weren't you there?_ a voice screamed in his head, and he realized it sounded like him, back when he was five years old.

"Mox?" Sefa asked and repeated, "Are you okay?"

Mox shook his head, hard. "Yeah, I'm okay, just a little... "

Sefa looked over in the direction Mox was looking and must have seen Donna too, because he looked back at Mox. "A little taken aback?" he supplied.

Mox nodded. "Yeah."

"It's all right," Sefa said.

He didn't explain _why_ it was all right, but the words were assuring to Mox. He realized then that they were causing a minor clog on the stairs, and stepped down with Sefa. He looked over at his birth mother again, and saw she was looking at him. _She recognizes me, too._ She smiled, but she did not rush over. He saw her eyes were a little overly bright, her cheeks a little flushed, but the smile wasn't over the top. And he was grateful for that. If she had rushed for him, or looked overly eager, he might have tried to run up the stairs, away from her.

They hadn't announced that the luggage was on its way. But there was still a human stew around him of people greeting each other, and folks checking to see what luggage carousel would be matched for their flight and rushing to get close. Parents with children who were hyper having been trapped on a plane for awhile and just wanted to run. Business men with carry on only luggage heading for the exits. People who had friends and family who were greeting each other. Either as visitors or for homecomings. Some were hugging, some were smiling and beaming.

 _It's a_ visit _,_ Mox told himself. _It_ isn't _a homecoming._

Even though everyone around them seemed to be motivated by some type of urgency, Mox and Sefa walked slowly towards Donna. She continued to smile in an inviting way, but did not move from her spot, which was slightly apart from everyone else, off to the right a bit. A perfect spot to be seen but _not_ to be part of the crowd.

Mox found his throat felt dry, the closer they moved and he forced himself to swallow, several times. The first two it felt like he was trying to swallow sand, but then his saliva glands seemed to get the message and began working. Barely aware he was doing it, he pulled a package of breath strips from his pocket and put one in his mouth. Lance had once confessed that before he got his teeth properly cleaned by a dentist, that Mox's breath had sometimes been bad, even though he brushed his teeth regularly. Even though Lance and Roman had assured him that his breath was no longer a problem, Mox still found he felt better if he popped a breath strip in his mouth in some situations. He had no plans to kiss Donna, or hug her but he recognized that a hug _might_ be necessary. He'd been told by Sefa when he first moved in with the family that his body was his own and nobody was allowed to touch it without his say-so, but Mox had discovered the world didn't always see it this way. Donna had given birth to him, so she might feel it was her right to hug him. She'd hugged him the first five years of his life and if he recalled correctly, she never asked him his opinion.

 _Be honest, if she had, your opinion would have been yes back then._

It was the longest and shortest walk of Mox's life, but eventually they were in front of her. Sefa held out his hand. "Donna, good to see you," he said.

"Good to see you again too, Sefa," Donna shook his hand. Mox noticed her hand was trembling. All distractions were over now, there was no way to postpone this anymore.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

"Hello," Dean said, and his voice was soft and subdued. Nothing like Dean at five, when he had been a loud, boisterous child. Donna fought against hugging him. She was getting tired, because her body and mind had been fighting all day. She had fought not to go to the airport too early, she had fought when the flight was announced as arriving, from running up the stairs so she could see him before he came downstairs. When she saw him, she fought from rushing to him, throwing her arms around him and hugging him so tightly and not letting go. She wanted to hold him, to hug him, to snuggle with him as she had done when he had been _her_ Dean, _her_ cuddlebug and sometimes it felt like the two of them against the world. She fought against bursting into tears and apologizing over and over again. Apologize for not stopping him from being kidnapped, apologize for having gone back to the drugs when he was still a toddler, apologize for not being able to shake the entire world until her baby boy had fallen out and into her arms and gotten him away from his kidnappers. Apologize for _everything_ , including the fact that they were now strangers when they shouldn't be. But she knew that wouldn't help. She knew it would just make things even more awkward.

"Hello," she returned and tried to satisfy the part of her that wanted to hug him, into just taking him in, the look of him. His hair was darker than she remembered, and long, looking as if it had been awhile since he'd had a real haircut. _Maybe it has been,_ she thought, remembering Sefa telling her about Mox's trouble with being touched by strangers. He was wearing a pair of jeans, a plain black T-shirt and a denim jacket. The jeans and jacket were both worn to the point where they looked comfortable, but also smelled like fresh air and sunshine, as if they had been washed and hung up on a clothesline to dry. The T-shirt was so black that she knew this was probably the first time it had been worn.

He looked good too. Sefa had shown her pictures of him, all from the time they had him. He had looked too skinny and too afraid at first, but as the time progressed he started to look less afraid and put on weight. But now, he looked more like a teenager who was very athletic. She knew he ran almost every day and worked out in a gym and did professional wrestling. She knew so much _about_ him, but she didn't know _him._

 _What do I say now?_ she asked herself. There were no words for this situation. No Hallmark greeting card for this moment. She didn't want to overwhelm him, but she didn't want for him to think this meant nothing to her, either. "It's-it's _really_ good to see you," she finally said.

"Uh, thanks," he said, the epitome of a teenage boy, bored with life, until he added, shyly, "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Mox didn't quite know if he should be relieved or disappointed she didn't hug him.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Sefa did his best to help with the awkward situation unfolding in front of him. It was so obvious that Donna wanted to pour out her love for him, and Mox was as unsure as a barefoot man in a room full of broken glass. Sefa spoke casually, talked about the flight going smoothly, giving Mox a chance to feel on more firm ground. Sefa had been worried Mox might have been scared of flying, but he wasn't and when the wheels of the plane left the ground, Sefa had heard him go, "Cool!" under his breath.

Donna seemed to grasp the situation instantly and asked Mox what his thoughts were about flying. When he said that he thought the takeoff and landing were fun, she responded by commenting that was good, because if he was going to be a professional wrestler, he would likely have to fly a lot of places. Sefa thought that was about the best answer she could give she had acknowledged his one greatest wish and sounded as if him becoming a professional wrestlers was a given.

When the luggage finally was carried in on the conveyor belt, Sefa lead them a spot by the carousel where they could have a few more moments of awkwardness as they waited for Mox's bag to arrive. Sefa had only needed a carry on bag. But, since Mox would be there a few months, he had a carry on backpack and a duffel bag that he had checked in.

While they waited for the bag, Donna offered to drive Sefa to the car rental place and Sefa let her know that wasn't necessary, that there was an airport shuttle that would take him there. He had considered this before, and decided that it would be better for Mox and Donna to have the entire car trip by themselves. They would have to learn to communicate with each other and while he was willing to help get them through the first part, it would then be time for them to handle it.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

They separated outside the doors from the baggage claim area. Sefa's waiting area for the shuttle bus was a ways down the sidewalk, and Donna's car was in the parking garage. "Don't worry," Sefa said to Mox. "I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon and take you over to Heartland."

Since Donna offered no objection, Mox was pretty sure Sefa had cleared this with her first. They were standing on the sidewalk, Mox holding onto his duffle bag. Donna had offered to carry it, but he had shook his head. Why would he want her to carry his bag? He wasn't a baby anymore.

The shuttle bus hadn't arrived, but Sefa said one came every fifteen minutes, and they should just go on without him. Donna thanked him again for coming along with him on his first flight. Mox turned to go with Donna, then stopped and dropped his bag. "Dad!"

Sefa had started to head to the shuttle waiting area, but he turned back to Mox. "Yes?"

Mox threw his arms around him, hugging him as if Sefa was going to turn around and get right back on a plane, head home, and he'd never see him again. Sefa didn't hesitate, he hugged him back, doing his best not to smack Mox in the back with his carry on bag. "I love you, Dad," Mox said softly.

"I love you too," Sefa said. "And this isn't goodbye, I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

Mox nodded.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Once they were in Donna's car, headed out of the parking lot, she noticed Dean took his phone out of his back pocket and started texting someone. When he saw Donna looking at him for a moment, his face flushed. "I'm texting my mother, I mean, I'm texting Jen to let her know we arrived safely," he rushed to explain. "She'll let everyone know. I promise, I won't text any more after this. I mean, at least not on this car trip."

"It's alright," Donna said, appreciating that Dean had likely been told that spending time texting when he was supposed to be spending time with someone was wrong, and yet wanting him to be comfortable, even if that meant he was texting on the entire ride home. But, true to his word, after a few minutes, he snapped the phone shut and stuffed this time, into the pocket of his denim jacket.

There was a bit of a snarl of traffic she had to work her way around, to get onto the major through-way, so for the beginning of their ride, she had to focus all her attention on driving, leaving her long lost son to stare out the window. As she switched lanes, she wondered what she should say once they were on the highway and traveling.

"I don't recognize anything," Dean said, when they were safely on the highway, traveling smoothly.

"I'm not surprised," Donna was grateful Dean had been the one to speak and that he'd picked something easy to talk about. "Things have changed a lot since we lived here. I never owned a car while we were living here together, so I don't know if you were ever on the freeway. And, even if you _did_ remember the freeway, we've already passed the exit we'd need to take to get to the projects."

"Dad told me you lived in a house now," Dean said. "You and your husband and your kids."

"They aren't just _my_ kids,"

"Yeah, they're your husband's too," Dean was quick to agree.

"They're also _your_ brother and sister."

His shoulders slumped for a moment, but then he straightened himself out. "Marc, Roman, and Lance are my brothers, too." he said. And Donna could tell he was trying to say it without sounding defiant, but it managed to creep in anyway.

"Of course they are," Donna said smoothly. "But that doesn't mean Amber and Zachary can't be your brother and sister, too."

Dean shrugged. "How do _they_ feel about that? I mean, they were the oldest kids in the house, and I'm older than both of them."

"They can't wait to meet you," Donna found herself crossing her toes in her sneakers. It wasn't really a lie, Amber was excited about meeting him. Zach a little less so, which surprised her, she would have thought Zach would love having a big brother, but instead, he seemed put upon, as if he thought his mother having another son made him less special.

"Don't worry," Dean said, his voice deadly serious, "Mom, I mean, Jen has taught me to put the seat down."

Donna laughed. "Yeah, having all those guys in the house, she must have gotten awful tired of falling into the toilet. Maybe you can teach Zach, because he forgets in the upstairs bathroom and Amber gets furious."

"Roman and I forget a lot in the bathroom we share," Dean admitted. "And yeah, a few times I've gone to.. uh...well… you know, and I've been like, reading a book and not looking, hit the cold porcelain myself. So, I kinda get why women find it annoying."

Donna realized that Dean had just thrown her a life line to grasp onto. "Do you like to read?" She was pretty sure of the answer, because anyone who got so engrossed with a book that they would forget to check before they sat was bound to like reading.

"Yeah," Dean said. "I mean, I'm only now getting good at it. I-I knew how to write my name when I was a kid, but the guy who made me call him father, hated that I remembered my name and along with beating me to make me forget, another thing he did was teach me all the letters, so I would forget the ones that were my letters. I sorta taught myself to read, but I had limited reading material until I went to live with the Reigns."

Donna couldn't help it, she winced thinking of Dean being beaten. She could still see him as the five year old he'd been when he was taken, and that's the person she saw being beaten. She tried to pass it off, but she could feel Dean's eyes watching her.

"I'm catching up on reading though," he said, calmly, as if being beaten and then teaching himself to read was perfectly normal. "I've read the Harry Potter books, quite a few Steinbeck novels, the _His Dark Materials_ series. _Catcher in the Rye_ and _Lord of the Flies_ were two of the books I had to read for my GED studies, and Lance recommended them too."

"Your-" Donna began, then stopped, because for a moment, she forgot that while Dean was her son, he wasn't a member of the family and had been about to refer to Jacob as his father. Remembering how tightly Dean had hugged Sefa at the airport, Donna knew that there was no way he wanted to think of Jacob, a literal stranger as his father. "My husband," she began again, "Jacob, is an English teacher. I'm sure he'd love having someone to discuss books with."

"Isn't that supposed to be part of his job?" Dean asked. "Like, discussing books with the kids in his classes?"

"Well, yes," Donna admitted. "But you mentioned _Catcher in the Rye,_ he loves that book."

Dean shrugged. "I think Holden Caulfield is a pretentious dick." He didn't flinch when he said it, or apologize. But Donna supposed that if you were talking about _Catcher In The Rye,_ considering some of the language in the book, it would be prissy to say you were sorry for referring to Holden as a dick.

"So, you didn't like the book?"

"I didn't say that," Dean said. "I said Holden is a pretentious dick. The writing itself isn't too bad, but I wanted to slam the book into the side of Holden's head a few times, because he's such a pretentious dick."

"It wasn't one of my favorites," Donna admitted. "So, no argument from me, but if you want to hear another perspective, you and Jacob could discuss it."

Dean shrugged. "I guess. But if Jacob loves Holden, he won't like how I feel about it. Did you like Holden?"

"No," Donna admitted, then added, "I found him to be a pretentious dick."

Dean gave a snorting noise, as if trying not to laugh, but then gave up, and actually laughed. And Donna found it to be one of the sweetest sounds she'd ever heard.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

When they got to the Miller household, Mox was glad when introductions were over, and Donna showed him to the room he'd be using. She apologized several times for it being smaller than the rooms Zachary and Amber each used, but that was understandable. He told her that, finally, but she didn't look convinced. She told him that if he stayed when this month was up, they would turn the attic into a bedroom. Mox was mixed on that. Part of him wished they weren't thinking of him staying beyond the three months he'd agreed to, but another part was pleased that they were willing to go to that bother if he did stay, not that he would. So, he shrugged and nodded.

"I'll leave you to get settled in," Donna said. "Come down when you want."

When she left, Mox stared around the room. It was small and it was beige. There was a double bed made up, that had a headboard and foot board that didn't look right. They didn't cover the entire width of the bed. But it was made up with beige sheets and a brown bedspread. the sheets matched the walls. There was a nightstand by the bed, painted the same brown color as the bedspread. A new looking dresser was in a space that made it look small, with that fake wood look. The rest of the wall where the dresser was, had bookshelves. Clean bookshelves, that held no books. _I guess I took over the office._

He shrugged out of his backpack and put the duffel bag on the bed. He was more than happy to live out of his luggage for these three months, but he had a feeling Donna would want him to unpack, so he did. There was a small closet in the room, where he hung up the one pair of dress slacks and one button down shirt he had brought. He hadn't wanted to, thinking it wouldn't be necessary, but Mom had told him they might take him some place where more than jeans were required. Everything else he brought for clothing fit in the new dresser. He stared at the shelves, thinking they looked weird without any books or anything on them.

 _I wonder if they are hoping I put things on those shelves so I feel more like this is my room?_ It sure didn't feel like his room back in Florida, where he had a blue bedspread, and white sheets, _always_ white sheets, on the bed. And Roman's bed, separated from his by a nightstand, his bedspread and the walls around the bed a giant tribute to the Miami Dolphins and the St. Anthony's Crusaders, his high school football team. They both had shelves around their beds. Roman's had his football trophies on them, Mox had CD's, books and other things. He had brought along a few things, but left a lot back home. He didn't want to come here looking like he planned on staying, but he didn't want to look like he was getting ready to blow them off any second. He was trying to settle for some comfortable place in the middle.

He pulled out his portable CD player and a couple of his favorite CD's and put them on the nightstand. He had brought about half of his CD collection with him, which was't huge by any means. He didn't have an IPod like Roman did, but he really didn't want one either.

As he was putting his CD's and the few things he bought on the shelves, there was a knock on the door. Before he could call out, the door opened and Ashley came in. "Hi!"

Mox looked at her. "Please don't just knock and come in," he said trying not to snap, even though he wanted to. "What if I was changing?"

Amber shrugged and flopped on the bed, as if she owned the place. _Well, in a sense she does._ "It's no big deal," she said, rolling her eyes. "I've seen Zach's willy before."

Mox stared at her, getting that mental feeling of being punched in the chest and trying to breathe. What did she mean she'd seen Zach's willy? Why in the heck would she _say_ that?

She sat up and stared at him. "You're _really_ white."

He felt split again, Part of him wanted to tell her that he didn't want to hear that she'd seen her brother's willy, ask her why she thought it was no big deal. I mean, even Roman and Lance never undressed in front of him, yet here was his half sister, talking about seeing her brother's willy like it was no big deal. Another part of him wanted to explain that he still had a lack of pigment and a vitamin D deficiency, but he realized that she wasn't talking about him normally being pale, her talk had caused the color to drain out of his face.

Just as he was about to blurt out that he didn't want to ever hear her talking about her brother's willy, and he never wanted her to see his, it hit him, this little girl was growing up _normal._ She was six years old and probably had little to no clue what sex was and what could be done with a willy and a vagina and several other parts of the body. Her idea of boys and girls were that girls had whatever she called her vagina and boys had a willy. And that was it. It was _innocent._ She had probably seen her brother's willy a fair bit in her life, seeing that they were twins. And, she was bold enough that Mox would have bet money she had no problem walking in on her brother without knocking. "Look, I'm not your brother's age, and we're strangers," Mox said. "And, I am significantly older than you, so please do _not_ just barge in."

"I _knocked."_ Amber's brow was furrowed, puzzled that Mox was making such a big deal out of this.

"You knocked and came in. Knock and wait for an answer!"

She gave him a look that said she thought Mox was being way too sensitive. "You _could_ just lock the door if you're changing," she suggested.

That made him pause. There were no locks on the bedroom doors at the Reign's house. The house had been an older house, with key locks, and over the year they had just broken or the keys had been lost. Yes, the house had been modernized, but no one thought to replace the doors with ones with modern locks. Nobody ever went into another person's bedroom without knocking. Even Roman and Dean knocked in case the other was in there. And most of the time, if they needed to dress or undress at the same time, one of them went into the bathroom to do it. He looked over at the bedroom door that Amber had used, and saw a button on it to lock the door. "Okay, yeah, I'll lock my door if I'm undressed, but even if it's unlocked and I'm in here, please wait for me to say it's okay."

She shrugged and looked at him as if she thought he was a little too sensitive about this. "Okay," she said. "I do it to my brother though, all the time."

"Does he like it?"

She shook her head. "He locks his door now, even if he's just _playing."_

"Gee, I can't imagine why," Mox muttered. He was still taking things out of his bag that he could put up on those shelves. He had a framed picture of the whole family, him included, that one of the students had taken. He put that up in a spot where he'd see it when he first woke up.

Amber looked at the picture. "Why do those guys have hair like a girls?" she asked, obviously noticing Lance and Roman.

"Because they like it." He was _not_ going to tell her that Lance decided after chemo, to grow his hair long and Roman went along with it, just like Roman had shaved his head when Lance was bald from chemo. Roman and Lance had a solidarity that was very strong. He felt like Lance's cancer was none of her business. That it was a family thing and while this solidly built little girl shared his blood, she wasn't a Reigns and therefore had no right to know family business.

"Why do _you_ have hair like a girl?"

"Because _I_ like it." That wasn't exactly true, he just didn't dislike long hair as much as he disliked having strangers touch him. But he wasn't going to explain that to her.

"His hair is pretty," she said. He was looking in his bag, but he knew she was pointing to Roman. "I wish _I_ had pretty hair like that."

It was on his tongue to go, "Sucks to be you," but he caught himself. "His mother has hair a lot like that."

"It looks soft. Is it soft?"

"I don't know, I don't touch his hair!" That wasn't true, he and Roman had wrestled, of course he'd touched his hair. He'd grabbed handfuls of his hair and pulled him to his feet. And yes, it was soft. But he didn't want to admit this.

"I touch Britney's hair," Amber said, not bothering to explain who Brittney was. "Her hair feels like _doll_ hair, it's perfectly smooth. It's a golden blonde color, kinda like Kelly Clarkson, but even better. Her hair is totally _sheet."_

Mox stopped and thought for a moment. Thanks to Lance and his online studies, his vocabulary had increased and he ran her sentence over in his head until he could find a word that sounded like sheets, but would fit her sentence better. "Do you mean _chic?"_

"Yeah, _that'_ s the word! Hey, why do you have a rock?" Amber had sat up while Mox was putting another book on the shelf and decided to look in his bag.

Mox whirled around and saw her holding the rock in her hand. Before he could check himself, he snatched it out of her hand. "Don't touch that!"

Again, the look that said _he_ was the one with the problem, not her. "Why? It's just a rock."

"It doesn't matter why," Mox growled. "It's _mine,_ and I don't want you to touch it." He couldn't even begin to explain what that rock meant to him. It was the rock Roman had picked up while Dennis and Sam had a gun on him in the woods. Roman had been showing Marc and Sefa where they were, and had picked up the rock as a possible weapon. Sefa and Marc had shotguns on them. Roman grabbed a rock. Not only that, but he'd held onto that rock even when everything was over and done. He'd put it in his pocket a few times, but at dinner, he had it out and Mox had asked for it. To him, it was a representation of _love_ , of f _amily_. Lance had seen him being threatened and ran to the house to alert the family. Since Roman knew the running trail as well as Lance and he did, Roman volunteered to lead Marc and Sefa there. Yes, the idea was when they got close, Roman was to slip away quietly, but still, Roman had worried enough to grab a rock. To be willing to use a rock to get Mox free if he had to. That rock represented that his whole family had done whatever they could to help him. And to Mox, all he had to do was look at that rock and all those feelings came back to him. All that warmth of having family who cared. And he knew he could _never_ explain it to Amber, even if he wanted to.

"I have a rock too," Amber said. "It's a _better_ rock." She ran out of the room and came back with a rock that had been painted bright pink. Her name was painted on it in a very curly, flowing script, surrounded with tiny flowers that had been painted with purple paint that sparkled. "See? I have a _pretty_ rock. Yours isn't pretty, it's just a boring rock."

"Well, I don't mind my rock being boring," Mox said, trying to be diplomatic. "I agree, your rock is very pretty and that's cool for you. I like _my_ rocks plain and boring."

She sighed and rolled her eyes as if she couldn't understand why anyone would want a plain rock when rocks could be made so pretty?

Mox put the rock on a higher shelf, out of her reach, but still with his reach. "Uh, don't you want to play with your brother?"

"He's on the computer," Amber said. She had moved to the edge of the bed and was sitting on it, leaning on her arms that she had placed behind her and was swinging her legs. "He likes to play _alone_ on the computer, he says I _bug_ him too much."

 _Sounds like Zach isn't stupid._ "Well, don't you have to go play or something?" Mox asked. He just wanted to finish unpacking and maybe get on his laptop and see if he had email from his family, maybe send them email. Maybe even text them on his phone.

"Nope," Amber said, shaking her head. "I've got nothing to do until dinner!"

Mox's gaze went to the digital clock in the room. It was 3:00. The Reigns ate about five thirty on school nights and six thirty on the weekends and holidays. Mox really hoped that the Millers liked to have dinner early.

* * *

 **Authors Notes** : _I had this really long, likely boring, lecture written, but I realized that people would likely not read it, and I want to avoid those extremely long authors notes like I used to write, so I'm going to try to write the tl;dr version of that lecture. Here it goes._

 _I cannot force readers to read my stories. I put them out, and I hope folks read them, I hope they favor, follow and/ or review. But I can't force them to do that. My stuff is out here for anyone and everyone to read or ignore as they wish._

 _In return, I want my readers to understand that I write what I want to write. I post in hopes that readers will enjoy it, but I essentially write to please me. _

_You are welcome to write me, be it a review, or a private message, sharing your thoughts, and even to offer speculation about what might happen._

 _You are not welcome to threaten me. You are not welcome to tell me what I will and will not write. I don't want to lose readers, but if you as a reader can only read my stories if I write what you want to read, then let's call it quits right now. If I wanted to write what other told me, I'd put on my profile, "I write request stories!" and likely be drowning in ideas. But that's is NOT how I write and I don't think I have ever said/done anything to indicate I do. _

_If you are so fragile that you have to threaten me, even if the threat is to tell me you won't read what I write (which you are certainly welcome to do, I can't force you to read my stories) then I suggest you find another writer to read._

 _FYI? The rough of this story is done. What is going to happen is going to happen. So, threatening me won't change a damned thing. Why? Because this is my brain child and I have the right to write the story the way I see it. If you don't like it? You can write your own story where you can decide exactly what happens._

 _I respect my readers as long as they respect me. Threatening me is not respecting me, it's treating me like I'm a toy whose function is to spit out stories that please you. I don't work like that._


	10. Chapter 10

**Fakeclaimer:** Santa and his wife wanted to get a divorce. Unfortunately, in the North pole, there is no divorce. So, instead they got a semicolon. Because they're great for separating independent Clauses.

* * *

.

 **Chapter Ten**

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Mox managed to get Amber out of the room by telling her he was going to take a nap. Of course, that meant he had to stay hidden, but he didn't care. He locked the door when she was gone, and then got out his laptop. He had email already from Lance and Roman and he answered them. He was trying to be positive, so he didn't mention that his first impression of his new younger sister was not all that favorable, remembering that his first impression of Lance when he'd first met him wasn't so favorable. Lance had temporarily named him "Casper" when Mox had made the mistake of telling him that his name was Bret Hart and then was unable to think of a new name instantly. Mox had found Lance to be a bit of an annoying know-it-all, but later realized that he was actually pretty cool for a younger kid. Maybe, with time, he'd feel the same way about his half sister. He hadn't even had much time to form an impression of Zach, or Jacob, they'd done little more than shake hands and then he'd gone upstairs. So, he stuck to a generic, "They seemed nice."

He wrote nothing about Donna, other than she had picked him up. He wasn't sure how he thought about her. That one would take some time to sort out.

It was a little after five when there was a knock on the door of the room Mox was using. He knew the door was locked, but he hastily closed down his computer, and called out in what he hoped was a sleep filled voice, "Yeah?"

"Sorry if I woke you up," It was Donna speaking. "But, are you hungry? We're going to order pizza."

"Yeah, I'll be down in a few."

When he came downstairs, the family were sitting around the kitchen island, looking at takeout/delivery pizza menus, with both a seriousness and familiarity, which surprised Mox. It was rare when the Reigns brought home pizza. Honestly, he could remember them doing that exactly once when he lived there, and that was because Jen and Sefa had taken Lance in for his tests. They were at the hospital and the doctor's office, and came home late with pizza to celebrate that Lance's tests showed he was still in remission. Most of the meals in the Reign's house were made by Jen, sometimes with help, but often not. Mox had learned how to toss a salad and do other simple things, but Jen was the one who did the majority of meal preparation. But the sheer number of takeout menus just for _pizza_ , told Mox that ordering food to be delivered might be the norm around here.

"There you are," Jacob said, when he came into the kitchen. "What do you like on your pizza?"

"I'm not picky," Mox said. "I just don't like olives."

"You're just like mom!" Zachary exclaimed, shaking his head. "She _hates_ olives on pizza."

"They're overpowering," Donna said, with a voice that implied that every time the family ordered pizza, she was forced to defend her evil olive hating ways.

Mox nodded, "And they make the whole pizza taste like olives. It's like they sink into everything. They're disgusting." Dennis and Sam had been big olive lovers when Mox was growing up.

 _"So?"_ Zach said, sounding a little belligerent. "you can always pick them off."

"It doesn't help," Donna said. She grinned at Mox, clearly happy to have an ally in the olive wars. "The olive taste powers into the cheese, into the crust, into the whole pizza."

"Olives are _deliciou_ s," Amber declared in a way that sounded like she would brook no arguments about the matter. In Amber's world, someone who didn't like olives was to be suspected. Well, maybe not her mom, but certainly Mox, who she was looking at now through narrowed eyes.

"How about me and the kids get an extra large pizza," Jacob suggested. "And we can have it smothered with olives if we want. Donna, you and Dean can get what you want."

"Mox," Mox said. "I like to be called, _Mox."_

For a moment, Mox thought Jacob was going to make an objection, but Donna looked at her husband and while Mox didn't see the look, Jacob did and he nodded. "I'm sorry, Mox. It's just whenever we talked about you before, you were Dean."

"Well, I like to be called _Mox,_ " Mox said. He realized that the twins were looking between him and their father. Amber's eyes were bright as if she expected something exciting to happen. Zach's expression was sour, as if he thought Mox was being unfair.

"I'll try to remember that," Jacob said, his voice cool, but not cold. "In the meanwhile, what do you and Donna like on your pizza?"

"I'm not picky," Mox repeated, looking over at Donna. "If you like meat, I like bacon, sausage, and pepperoni on a pizza."

"That sounds good," Donna said. "How do you feel about onions?"

"Are they big chunks or small enough that as they cook in the oven, they get that kinda sweet taste and those burning bits on the edges?"

"They get the sweet taste." Donna said.

"Okay, onions too, then." This was starting to sound like a pretty delicious pizza.

"Onions!" Amber shook her head. " _Onions_ ruin pizza, not _olives."_

It was on the tip of Mox's tongue to suggest that Amber didn't know what she was missing, and maybe she should stop being so damned judgmental over pizza toppings. But he caught himself in time and shrugged. "Then it's a good thing we're not having to share the same pizza."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

"He's a little… off, don't you think?"

Donna did not have to ask her husband who it was that was "off." She was in bed, waiting for him to get undressed and join her. Zach and Amber had gone to bed, Dean had gone up about half an hour later. She and Jacob had stayed up to finish watching a movie that was on TV, and had only talked about general things during the commercial break. But Donna had a feeling that when they would be alone in their bedroom, Jacob would open up about his impression of Dean. "Why do you say that?" she asked, although she suspected what his reasons were already. It was obvious that Dean had been awkward and uncomfortable. But Donna really couldn't hold that against him, considering his background.

"He's just," Jacob paused as he pulled his shirt off. _"Off._ I got the impression he was holding back, but then he'd say something and I'd wonder what he would say if he _was_ comfortable with us."

 _Okay, now this isn't quite what I expected_. "What do you mean by that?" she asked.

Jacob carefully removed his jeans, and then folded them carefully, as if they were dress slacks. He had older, comfortable jeans he wore to do things around the house, like yard work, but if he wasn't doing something that involved the possibility of getting dirty, he wore dark colored jeans that she washed in color guard detergent with only like colors, to keep them looking as new as possible. "Well, he was a bit rude when Zach told him we had bought a bike for him."

"I disagree," Donna said, trying not to sigh. They had been at a garage sale and bought a bike because it was only twenty five dollars and practically new. It was a bike for an adult, not a child, and they were thinking it would be a good thing for Mox to have, seeing that he didn't have his driver's license yet. Then, Donna asked Sefa if Dean even could ride a bike, and Sefa had told her that it was likely that no one had taught him how to ride a bike when he was a child, and they hadn't either. Donna and Jacob weren't worried, they figured they'd save the bike for when Zach got older, or Jacob even said he might use it and go riding with the kids, if Dean didn't want it. But Zach, who seemed to be insecure about having Dean here, had remarked over dinner that there was a bike in the garage for him.

Zach had been warned not to do that. Donna had told him that the bike would be brought up in a couple of days and not to bring it up. So of course, Zach brought it up that first night. "Mom and Dad bought you a bike," he'd said. "It's in the garage." He had tried to sound casual, but he'd failed.

Dean had looked at Donna and Jacob, startled. "Why did you do that? I can't ride a bike!" His voice had come out like a yip and Donna understood he felt cornered. Like he was being tested and had failed. As if being able to ride a bike was a requirement in this family. And to make it worse, Zach and Amber did the open mouth gaping thing.

"You can't ride a _bike?"_ Amber had asked as if this made him some rare and broken thing, like a bird born with no wings.

"I thought _everyone_ could ride a bike," Zach said, his tone bordering on condescending.

Mox had opened his mouth again, and Donna could see there were words dancing on the tip of his tongue, but at the last moment, he pulled his tongue in and shut his mouth. Donna honestly thought he was being remarkably restrained.

"Zach was being a brat, and you know it. We _warned_ him Dean, I mean, Mox, might not know how to ride a bike and we weren't going to discuss it. So, the first night, he brings it up."

"That's another thing," Jacob said, as he settled into bed, punching his pillows to get them to the right shape. "Why do we have to call him, Mox? I get that he had picked the name because he didn't want to be known by the name his kidnappers gave him, but he knows his real name now. Why does he still want to be called Mox?"

"Because he _does,"_ Donna said, trying not to sound exasperated. It was bad enough she couldn't stop _thinking_ of him as Dean, she was at least making an effort to _call_ him Mox, but Jacob hadn't named him as a baby, _she_ had. He had no right to be put out by this. "Hon, what is _your_ problem?" she finally asked. "You know he went through a lot. He was kidnapped. He was abused. He recently watched one of his kidnappers get shot by the other one. The name Jon Moxley was the first thing he's had since he was five that was entirely _his._ And even before that, he didn't have much. I was not a good mother. I've admitted that."

"I think you're too hard on yourself," Jacob said, sliding his arm around her. She tried not to stiffen, because right now, she did not feel like cuddling at all. "Yes, I know you were a drug addict for part of his life, but I know you tried. And look at how well you've done in turning yourself around."

"If I was mother of the year, I _never_ would have gone back to the drugs," Donna said. There were times when people excusing her drug habit really bothered her. One of the biggest things she'd learned in her life was that if you messed up, you owned up. If you did not accept responsibility for your mistakes, then it was too easy to keep making them.

She remembered when she had to go to group therapy in the rehab center, how irritated she got that everyone there had an excuse. No matter what mistakes they made, the root of their problem, the addiction, was never their fault. Oh no, not them. Blame Mommy, blame Daddy, blame the babysitter, the boyfriend, Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny, but none of them were _ever_ responsible for getting hooked on drugs. And if you weren't responsible for that, then how could you be held responsible for anything you did while on drugs?

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

 _She remembered when all her excuses for being silent ran out and it was her turn to talk about her addiction and she had made it short and sweet. "I tried drugs, I liked drugs, I kept taking drugs, because I liked being high. The next thing I knew it, I had a habit. I got pregnant and stopped for awhile, but then someone offered me drugs and I stupidly decided to say yes_ _. Next thing I knew, I was hooked twice as hard."_

 _Several of the other patients had nodded in sympathy, told her they understood, that it was so hard to cope in this world, it's almost like you_ had _to get high just to keep going. She had gotten so angry. Her son was gone, vanished. And she'd been so strung out that she couldn't even report he was missing right away, for fear that the cops would just dismiss her as a crazy junkie. She had to cut herself off, go cold turkey, and clean the apartment. And it had taken_ that _, her son_ disappearing _to get her to come clean and hopefully to_ stay _clean. She had thought Dean was the most important thing in the world when he was born, and she couldn't even stay clean for him. She didn't want pity, she didn't want excuses. She wanted to fix the problem so she wouldn't be such a mess. So when (and she had believed back then that it was "when" not "If") Dean came back, she could be the mother he had always deserved._

 _The Rehab place worked on a system of merits and demerits for privileges. Faithfully going to meetings every day earned you a merit a session, which you could use for a number of things, extra outdoor time, extra shower time, or you could use them like money in the commissary. However, walking out of a therapy session before it was over, was a ten demerit crime. She had been saving her merits for commissary items, in particular, soda. Getting off drugs gave a lot addicts a sweet tooth and every once in awhile, Donna could quell those cravings for heroin with a can of Pepsi or even the off brand of orange soda they sold. But a six pack of either was 100 merits for brand name, 75 for off-brand. So, she did everything she could to earn merits and to not lose them. But she had blown off ten of her merits that day when she first told her story, when all the sympathy poured from the others who kept trying to tell her it wasn't her fault she was an addict, how society, her friend Kelly, hell, probably even the man on the moon were to blame, but not her, oh no,_ never _her._

" _Are you fucking_ kidding _me?" she said, after trying several times to get people to stop excusing her. "Yeah, okay, my friend Kelly suggested I try heroin both times, but she didn't hold a gun to my head. And I was not an ignorant child. They taught us the dangers of drugs in school. But I still tried them. And then I kept using. Nobody tied me to the floor and shoved a needle into my veins, I did it myself. And I am never going to get better if I don't own up to my mistakes!"_

 _She had been at 65 merits at that point, she had gone to every therapy session, washed floors and dishes and did whatever other chores she could to earn merits, and as badly as she wanted Pepsi, she knew she would settle for the orange crap, because that's how bad the cravings were lately. She had kept her eye on the prize, until that moment. Unable to stand it anymore, she'd gotten up and left the meeting._

 _Nobody stopped her. You were allowed to leave, you just paid the price if you left before the meeting was over without a valid excuse._

 _But, the therapist, Dr. Stephanie Davis had stopped by her room after therapy, before she went home, and found Donna crying. Donna owned up to that too, admitting she was having herself an old fashioned pity-party for being stupid and getting ten demerits. "But I couldn't deal with it anymore," she finally said, choking back a sob._

" _Why not?"_

" _Because if I blame anyone_ but _me, then I'll always have an excuse to go back!" As she said it, she clenched her fists, fingers digging into palms. "I can't go back. I just can't. I have a_ son _out there who_ will _be found and_ will need _me. If I'm not clean by the time he's found? He'll go into Foster care and I'll likely lose him forever. I picked drugs over him once, I will_ not _do it again."_

 _Dr. Davis had nodded. "I can't excuse your demerits," she said. "Rules are rules, but-"_

" _-I'm not_ asking _you to," she interrupted. "I knew what I was doing. I had to do it though. I can't just listen to that 'not my fault' crap. It's like a pit and I don't want to fall into that pit."_

" _If you'll let me finish," Dr. Davis said, with a trace of a smile across her lips, "what I_ can _do is offer you a chance to earn some merits. I want to paint the group therapy room. Those eggshell walls are so boring. But with budget cuts and all, there's no funding for having the room painted. But, I've been told that if I'm willing to do the work, they can afford the paint. I was thinking of a nice, soft, relaxing, blue. We can do it this Saturday. I know you usually have visitors on Sunday, so if we can do it Saturday, I can give you 30 merits for it. That means you'll end up seventy five merits counting what you'll have once the ten demerits are deducted. It won't get you your Pepsi, but it will get you the generic orange soda. Does that sound fair?"_

 _Donna had looked at her, grateful but suspicious at the same time. "It sounds a lot more than fair," she admitted. "It sounds...generous. Why? I did the crime, you don't owe me anything."_

" _No, I don't_ owe _you," Dr. Davis agreed. "And rules might be rules, but I admire you for what you did. You want to own up to what you've done. You're willing to put it on your shoulders, knowing you're the only one who can fix it."_

" _Doesn't that kinda go against the whole higher power thing?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly._

" _If you believe the Higher Power is God, then you also should believe that God Helps Those Who Help Themselves. A lot of the other folks in that therapy session? This isn't their first time around this track. And most of them? I know it won't be their last. They'll get out and do fine for awhile, then the temptation will be too much. And, even a lot of the first timers are going to be in the same boat. But, if I could bet money on one person in that group making it, it's going to be you. And I think not wanting to sit around and play the excuse game is about the best reason for walking out. So, I'm willing to offer you a chance to make up for it. It won't be easy. The room isn't_ that _tiny, and we have to paint it all on Saturday, so it will have Sunday to air and dry before Monday. Are you up to it? It means your Saturday will be filled."_

" _I'd love to help you paint," Donna said, and she was completely sincere. Saturdays were usually filled with TV watching and busy things. Classes in how to paint t-shirts, or Scrabble matches. Activities designed to fill up the hours. Having a day of doing something productive and earning merits sounded wonderful._

" _Good," Dr. Davis said. She had sat down on Donna's bed and now she stood up. She had one of those large shoulder bags that seemed to act as a briefcase and purse. She had left it leaning against the bed when she sat down, and as she went to pick it up, she pulled out a 20 oz bottle of Pepsi. "I bought this for my lunch, and then ended up not drinking it," she said. "I don't want to bring it home, do you want it?"_

 _Donna accepted it with a sincere thank you. The bottle was still cold, telling Donna she had not bought it for lunch, she had bought it just before she came to visit her, from the vending machines in the visiting area. And Donna was grateful for that, too, but she didn't say anything about the bottle being a little too cold to have been sitting in her bag for so long. They were playing a game. It was a gray area on staff buying things for patients, and sometimes games were played._

 _After Dr. Davis left, she had drank that Pepsi slowly, savoring the flavor. It was a bottle of sugar, caramel coloring and artificial flavors and at that moment, it was heaven sent. It took the edge off of her cravings._

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

"I'm not saying being a drug addict was a good thing," Jacob protested.

" _Is_ a good thing," she interrupted, snapping herself into the present. "I'll _always_ be an addict. I just choose every day, _not_ to do drugs. And I hope that I can do that every day for the rest of my life. Tell myself that I won't do drugs today and sticking to it."

"All right, I'm not saying being a drug addict _is_ , a good thing," Jacob relented. "But you can't just dwell on the sins of the past, you have to look at the positive, too. You cleaned yourself up, you worked hard and you _still_ work hard. You're a good mother." Before she could object he held up one hand in a "stop" gesture. "Maybe not back then, but certainly now you are."

"Oh?" Donna wasn't snuggled up to him, like she usually did before they went to sleep, but she wasn't pushing him away, either. "Then why did Zach disobey me and bring up that bike? I specifically asked him _not_ to mention the bike, that we would do it. But he had to bring it up the very first night. Amber wasn't very polite either, to be frank."

"They don't understand," Jacobs said. "In their world, all the kids ride bikes. Every kid on this street has a bike.

"Well, in _Mox's_ world, until less than a year ago, the only kids were _him_ and he was kept out of the sunshine and forced to live most of his life in a basement," she shot back, her tone a little hotter than she intended. She didn't know as much about Dean's background as the Reign's family did, and even Sefa admitted the kid hadn't been totally open about it. But Sefa had told her enough. "When was he supposed to learn to ride a bike?"

"Well, how are Amber and Zach supposed to know that?"

Donna wanted to smack her forehead in frustration, and then smack Jacob's, just for fun. "Jake, we _work_ with troubled kids. You attempt to teach them English. I fix them up when they get hurt. We have known kids that have had a lot easier time of things than Mox has, and yet are far worse behaved. This is his first day with us, and Zach and Amber are picking at the edges of him, as if he's a scab they want to peel off the family. He didn't want to come here, it was sort-of forced on him."

"Well, we didn't really give Amber and Zach much of a chance to object to his visiting, either," Jacob reminded her.

"So?" Donna sat up, causing his arm to fall off from around her, onto the bed. She twisted to look at him. "There are adjustments that will have to be made on all sides. I get that Zach has been the only son, so that's tough. And I understand it's hard when you've been the only children, and the same age and suddenly you have a new sibling and he's older than you. I get that, and I'm willing to give Zach and Amber some room for that. But I will _not_ give them permission to make Mox feel bad for things that he had no control over. I won't give _you_ permission either."

"If Dean, I mean Mox, is going to be part of this family, there has to be give and take on both sides," Jacob pointed out.

"The way Zach and Amber acted tonight? Over the bike and the pizza toppings? I'm suddenly glad Mox has that wrestling school he'll be working for. Otherwise, I think he'd be on his phone with Sefa, begging the man to take him home."

"Are you saying it's you and Mox against me and _our_ children?" Jacob looked hurt.

"You said that Mox was just as much our child as Amber and Zachary," Donna reminded him. "Now it's become _you_ guys against _us_ guys?" She was trying to keep her voice down, her temper in check but it wasn't easy.

Jacob said nothing for a long moment, then let out a sigh. "You're right. I'm not being fair. I shouldn't expect Dean, I mean Mox, to just fit in. I guess I'm guilty of thinking that since he's biologically your son, he'd be like you and fit right in. That's my fault and I'm wrong. I'll try to keep that in mind and I'll try to give him the benefit of the doubt."

With those words, Donna felt her anger escape from her, and she exhaled, sounding like a balloon with air escaping. "That's all I ask for," she finally said. "We all have adjustments to make. And that includes Zach and Amber. Yes, they are younger, but they also have the home court advantage along with the whole 'were never kidnapped and sexually abused' thing too. So let's just try to not picking each other apart and try to find a common ground."

"You're right," Jacob repeated, motioning to the bed. She laid down next to him again, letting him curl his arm around her, as she snuggled up to him. The way they usually fell asleep.

Sure enough, Jacob was sleeping in a few minutes. Donna moved carefully out of his arms, so as not to disturb him. _He hasn't even been here a full 24 hours,_ she told herself. _These things take time._

But she wondered if bringing him here had been the right thing to do.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I just wanted to say thank you to all of you who gave their support to me last week over my author's note. I appreciate it. And thank you to everyone who read this. Thanks again to anyone who favored or followed it, and yet another thank you if you took the time to comment, I appreciate it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Fakeclaimer:** Not a joke this time, but something I was told by my father. "You can argue with a donkey all you want, but he's just going to say, 'hee haw.'" My dad has passed, but that was darned good advice and I'm happy to pass it on.

* * *

.

 **Chapter Eleven**

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

If it wasn't for Heartland Wrestling Association, (HWA) Mox didn't think he'd be able to make it with the Millers for a _week_ , never mind three months. He was trying to be fair to the family, but he had a feeling he was missing the mark, badly. He would realize he had something in common with his mother, like them hating both Holden Caulfield and olives on their pizza, and the first reaction was that this was sort of cool. Then, this wave of anger would roll over him, as if he had failed himself by having _anything_ in common with her. And he'd be somewhat torn between wanting to tell his mother how cool this was, and wanting to go, "Roman, Lance, _and_ Sefa hate olives too, so it's not _that_ freaky!"

Then, there was the rest of the family. His half brother and sister and their shock at things that never seemed to phase the Reigns, even Lance who wasn't _that_ much older than they were, but never freaked out because he couldn't ride a bike, never even _asked_ him if he could ride a bike. Yet Amber and Zachary acted like him being unable to ride a bike was a complete and utter shock. It made him feel as if they were passing judgement on him, or even worse, passing judgement on the Reigns family for not teaching him to ride a bike the second his ankle had healed up. He had never even _thought_ about riding a bike until he got here.

Jacob was another person he wasn't sure about at all. He seemed way too fond of his blood kids and sometimes Mox got the vibe that he wanted him to just renounce the Reigns family and just slip seamlessly into the Miller family. Like he was a dog they adopted from a shelter and they would try to break all the things he'd learned from one family and try to mold him into their family instead. And maybe with a dog, that had been abandoned, that would be understandable. But the Reigns hadn't give him up, it was Donna and Jacob that had wanted him to come here, so why was he supposed to become another person? A person who rode a bicycle and preferred to watch _The Drew Carey_ show on Monday, instead of _RAW?_

And even though he wasn't completely sure of Donna, at least she stuck up for him. "He wants to watch wrestling," she said the first Monday when he realized this family didn't care at all about wrestling, they wanted to watch stupid sitcoms. Apparently _The Drew Carey show_ was a family favorite and the kids were allowed to stay up to watch it. So, she lead him to the Master bedroom, where there was another TV.

"Boom time," Donna had said, as the two of them sat on the bed to watch. Mox looked at her, brows furrowed. There was something familiar about that expression.

"You called it Boom Time when you were young," Donna explained. "I used to watch wrestling. There wasn't a Monday Night Raw, but there were other wrestling shows. And you _loved_ them. When you learned to talk, you had trouble remembering the word wrestling, and you loved it when the people would fall in the ring and make a lot of noise. So, you called it 'Boom Time!'"

"Really?" He had that confused feeling again, part of him wanting to be angry that this woman claimed a part of his life, but also fascinated that she knew things about it. "I got my love of wrestling from you?"

"Well, you got your love of _watching_ wrestling from me, I guess," Donna pondered. "But somehow you decided you wanted to be a wrestler and I can't take credit for that." She smiled. "For awhile, we had two TVs. A friend who lived at our place for awhile, brought along his 19" color TV. We put that in the living room. You begged for the old black and white one."

"I did?" He tipped his head to one side, believing her, but wondering why he would want a black and white TV when there was a color one.

"Yes. And the first time 'Boom Time' was supposed to come on, you ran into your room. I had to explain to you that we could watch it on this other TV too." Donna smiled.

"I was _that_ stupid?" he suddenly felt small and sheepish.

"No, you were a very small child, you had no concept of how TV worked," Donna explained. "We watched it on the color TV and you were just… mesmerized for the whole show. I don't remember which wrestling show it was, maybe it was Prime Time Wrestling, but there was a lot of talking done in a studio, along with matches, and every time the show went to the talk, you would shake your head and go, ' _Boom time!'_ I believe you thought that since it was in color, we really ought to have a lot more boom and a lot less blab. Then, when the show was over, your ran into your room and thought you could watch it on the black and white TV too. Like the show was stored inside the TV or something, and you could watch it on different sets at different times."

"Really?" He couldn't help but grin, thinking about how crazy that was, but a tiny part of him understanding the logic. "I didn't know I was a wrestling fan that far back."

"Oh yes," Donna said, nodding. "You used to try to do wrestling moves on the floor. There was a boy your age who lived downstairs, Steven. Sometimes his mother brought him up and I watched him so his mother could," there was a slight pause, then she said, "Run errands. If wrestling was on, you and Steve would both watch 'Boom time' and the two of you would try to wrestle on the floor. We had this big, square coffee table for awhile, that was huge for our tiny living room. the guy who owned the TV, turned it upside down and tried to turn it into a toy wrestling ring for the two of you. I put a stop to that. I was worried that the two of you were going to hurt each other on the carpet, I didn't want you trying to do it with a solid wooden underneath you. As it was, I had to make sure the two of you never tried anything _too_ difficult. No power bombs, no lifting each other, mostly you kind of flopped on the ground a lot and took turns pinning each other."

"What happened when you said we couldn't wrestle in the coffee table ring?"

"You and Steve both cried as if I had beaten you." Donna laughed. "You didn't _just_ cry, you screamed and yelled. I was afraid the neighbors would call the cops. But, then I let you and Steve wrestle on my bed for a bit,watching you both, of course, along with Mr. TV guy, since this was his fault in the first place. That made you both happy, except you were a little disappointed the bed didn't make that thudding noise."

"Of course I was," Mox said, grinning. "It's hard to have 'Boom time' with no boom."

"Exactly." Donna was grinning too.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

He didn't really mind those times with his mother, watching RAW and her telling him things about himself, from before he was taken. But he had the feeling Jacob was upset that he and Donna didn't compromise and watch the _Drew Carey Show_. Mox personally, was of the opinion that he and Donna compromised by being willing to go into the bedroom, and Jacob and the twins had done no compromising at all. A compromise, in Mox's eyes would be if they switched off on the living room TV, one week it being Donna and him, the next Jacob and the kids.

He emailed members of the Reigns family every day, and tried to keep his emails positive, tried not to complain. But he missed them. He wanted to text and call them every free moment he had, but he felt that would look like he wasn't even _trying_ to fit in. And he had promised to give it his best shot. And it wasn't like they were mean to him or anything, he just felt uncomfortable around them, and felt they were uncomfortable around him.

 _Three people in this house share my blood and I feel less at home with them than I feel at the Reigns,_ he thought. _They don't feel like family. Donna, a bit, but she doesn't feel as much like a mom as Jen does. Maybe an aunt or something, but Jen feels like a Mom._

But Heartland Wrestling Association was the bright spot. They didn't cut him any slack, in fact, that first Monday, when he went in to work, after having met Les and Cody the day before, with Sefa, Les Thatcher made it very clear that maybe Papa Sefa thought he was a big deal and maybe he did have a few fans on the internet that watched those shows he and Roman had put on, but that didn't mean squat to him or Cody. Yes, SPWA was a well respected school, but that's all it was, a _school._ The shows they put on were shows to get student wrestlers used to crowds. HWA was a different animal. They did a _real_ show that was shown on one of the local Cincinnati channels every week. They were a few steps up from SPWA, and _they_ would be the ones to decide if Mox was worthy of their teaching.

"We've got no problems with you helping out here," Les said. "We can always use help. And, we'll pay you. Not much money wise, but we'll pay in lessons, too. If you prove your worthy, _maybe_ you'll get to be on a couple of the house shows. We do those on Friday and Saturday nights. The best of the house shows get taped and turned into the TV show. You won't get on TV though, so don't even think you will."

"How do you know?" Mox asked, hoping he didn't sound totally belligerent. A little arrogant was fine, but he didn't want to sound like he was trying to tell Les how to do his job. "I'm pretty good."

"I have a locker room full of guys who are _pretty_ good," Les said. "You've got to be more than _pretty good_ to get my attention. You've got to show me you're _great._ You've got to show me you stand head and shoulders above most of the people in here."

"Fair enough," Mox said. "I haven't been training long, but I've trained hard. Sefa says I'm a natural."

"We'll see." Les looked at him with an expression of equal parts amusement and disdain "Your _daddy_ thinking you're the greatest doesn't hold much water around here, no matter who your daddy happens to be."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

The gym opened at 6:00 every morning, for members and students who wanted to get a work out in before their regular job. Mox was expected to be there when the place opened. He was expected to make coffee, and clean up from the night before. He was allowed to leave at four in the afternoon, Monday through Thursday. Friday and Saturday nights, he was expected to stay longer, because of the shows. Les and Cody wanted him to work the concession stand, at least until he proved "worthy" of being in the house shows. And they warned him that it was likely he would never be worthy of house shows, unless he decided to stay in Ohio rather than go back to Sefa and family.

His lessons happened mid morning, if everything expected of him was done. The gym was quiet then, so the instructors had the time.

Mox didn't mind the long hours. If he had his way, he would work until the gym closed at night, but he knew he was expected to spend some time with the Millers. He knew it would have been pretty impolite of him to merely use the house as a place to sleep and grab a bite to eat.

Transportation was an issue though. Heartland was a distance from the house, so either Donna or Jacob had to get up and drive him there. Usually, it was Donna, but he knew they had enough to do trying to get Amber and Zachary up and off to school and to get to the school they worked at on time.

He woke up at four once, and tried running there, leaving a note, but it took him almost two hours to run there, and once he got there, he was late, and tired. He didn't do any cardio work out that day, so he got his work done, but arriving late still didn't impress any of the instructors.

 _I should have a driver's license_ he thought, then realized that wouldn't do him any good, because didn't have a car he could drive and he was sure that Jacob wasn't going to lend him one of the family vehicles.

That's when he remembered the bicycle. The one sitting in the garage that had been bought for him to use. He got on the internet and found out that the average person could bike around 15 miles an hour, depending on the terrain they were riding on. If he got good at it, he could likely get there in an hour, maybe even less.

But he didn't know _how_ to ride a bike, that was the problem. He had ridden exercise bikes before, so he got the principle of peddling, but exercise bikes were stable. _Is it that hard?_ he wondered. He'd seen Zach and Amber riding their bikes around and it didn't look _that_ tough. So, that night, at dinner (Chinese food delivered, Donna really didn't cook much) he casually asked Zach and Amber if they had found it hard to learn to ride a bike. Maybe they would give him some advice that he could use to teach himself how to ride.

"I learned faster than Zach," Amber announced proudly. "It only took me a _day_ to learn once Daddy took the training wheels off my bike. It took Zach a couple _weeks._ "

"That doesn't matter!" Zach protested. " _I_ didn't fall down and skin my knees as much, either. I learned _carefully."_

"I'm a natural," Amber said with a shrug and looked at Mox. "Like you're a natural at Wrestling."

"How do you know?" Mox asked. "Have you ever seen me wrestle?"

"No, Mommy told me," Amber said. "You, me, and Mommy are," she paused brow furrowed, thinking of the word. When she found it, she grinned. _"Athletically_ gifted. Zach and Daddy are not."

He thought Amber was being a little bratty, but he also had to admit, he kind of liked that she might actually think he was part of the family to inherit some gifts.

"Oh really?" Jacob said, looking at her with raised brows. "And who is it that taught you to ride a bike?"

"You," Amber admitted. "But you knew how to ride a bike. I _still_ learned faster than Zachery."

"Slow and steady wins the race," Zach muttered, eating a forkful of rice.

Amber took some lo mein noodles off her plate using a pair of chopsticks perfectly. "That's what we tell slow people to make them feel better." She ate the noodles, looking smug.

And the conversation melted into a discussion about athletic abilities in general. Zach admitted he wasn't much into sports and Jacob confessed that he had played a little kickball when he was young, but that was about it. Mox found out that Donna had been on the girl's basketball and softball team in High School. It was all pretty interesting, but it wasn't giving him much advice on how to ride a bike.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

That night, when everyone was asleep, Mox sneaked downstairs and went into the garage. He found the bike and wheeled it outside onto the driveway. He threw his leg over the bar and tried to ride it.

And fell.

He didn't even get to move his feet on the pedals, the moment he lifted them to get to the pedals, he fell. He tried again. He fell again. _Maybe the secret is I have to get moving before I start pedaling._ So, he threw his leg over the bike again, but instead of trying to sit on the seat, he pushed off with one leg, getting some speed. Then he tried as fast as possible to put his feet on the pedals, get into the seat, and keep his balance.

He fell again.

Frustrated, and knowing he had to get some sleep, he wheeled the bike back into the garage, being careful to put the bike exactly where he had found it.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

He tried again the next night. This time he managed to go a few feet, then he lost his balance and fell in the driveway, the worst fall yet. He skinned his arm. He ended up wearing his denim jacket at breakfast that morning so no one would see it.

"Are you cold, Mox?" Jacob asked him, seeing the jacket.

Mox was in the middle of a bowl of cornflakes, so he nodded for an answer.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Mox blamed his job for the bruise and the road rash on his arm that night, by claiming one of the ropes had snapped back and slid across his arm.

"Are you okay?" Donna asked, looking concerned.

"Yeah," Mox said, nodding. "I cleaned it really good at work and put some stuff on it to take away all the germs and all. It's fine." .

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Mox tried again that night as well. And got no further. In fact, he took another bad spill, because he tried to use the slight incline of the street to start him along, and had managed to build up some speed before he stopped pushing with one foot and tried to pedal. Fortunately, he had worn a long sleeved shirt and his denim jacket and did not get any road rash.

When he put the bike into the garage, trying again to place it carefully in the exact same place, he wanted to punch the wall he was so frustrated. It was three in the morning. He left a note for the family, saying he had run to work. When he did it the first time, Donna hadn't been happy, worried that he'd get hit by a car or something, and he hadn't tried it since. But he knew he had to do something to get rid of this anger.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Jacob went to the garage to go to work. Donna was still in the house, on her phone, calling Heartland Wrestling to make sure Mox had arrived safely. It was June, but it was one of those rainy, chilly, June mornings, and Jacob thought Mox was a little crazy, running to work, but then again, he wouldn't be cold by the time he got there. Since he knew Donna would be a minute, he hit the automatic garage door switch, thinking he would start the car and let it warm up a bit.

As he walked to the car, he passed the bike that was bought for Mox, and stopped. It wasn't very light outside, but it was light enough to see the chrome on the handlebars had scrapes on it. Frowning, he stopped to check it out. The bike had been perfect when they bought it, one of the reasons why they had bought it before finding out if Mox could even use it. Because twenty five dollars was too good a deal to pass up on a bike in such pristine condition.

These scratches were new.

He looked over at Zach and Amber's bikes, wondering if they had tried to ride this bike because one of theirs wasn't working. Both bikes looked to be in perfect order.

Frowning, he thought back over the week, and realized that Mox had been coming down to breakfast looking like he hadn't slept well. Donna had to wake him up after Raw so he could go sleep in his own room. Then there was that injury he got at work. Jacob would be the first to admit he knew nothing about wrestling ropes or the injuries they caused, but having taught two children how to ride bikes and having dealt with hundreds of children in the school, he did know what a skinned arm looked like and that injury looked an awful lot like a skinned arm, the type of injury one got when they were learning to ride a bike.

"He's there safely," Donna said, as she came out the door. "And they promised they wouldn't tell him I called, because I'm sure the last thing he wants is to find out-" She paused, seeing Jacob by the bike. "Is something wrong?"

Jacob turned from the bike and looked at her. "No," he said, smiling, "Nothing is wrong. Let's get to work."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Fridays and Saturdays were long, hard days for Mox, because he not only had to do his job, he had to work concession for the shows. Not that he minded, he knew he had to pay his dues. And Cody had actually said the other day, that Sefa might not have been talking with only fatherly pride when he'd said Mox was a natural. Les was even starting to take an interest in Mox's lessons, which told Mox he was doing good. If he had to go through some sort of hazing that involved selling popcorn? So be it. But he was too tired to try to teach himself to ride a bike.

If he had to be honest with himself, he was starting to hate that bike. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to get it. He tried riding the stationary bikes to see if they would give him a clue, but of course they didn't. They were designed that balance wasn't necessary.

 _I'm not stupid, I'm not clumsy. So, why can't I get this?_

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

"Mox, wake up."

Mox almost leaped out of the bed, feeling the hand on his shoulder. Without thinking, he cried out, "Don't touch me!"

"Shhh!"

It was Jacob. Mox started breathing, trying to slow down his heart rate, that had spiked when he'd been woken. "What do you want?" he asked.

Jacob didn't seem put out by his belligerent tone, and said softly, "Get up, get dressed, there's something we're going to do."

"Huh?" Mox shook his head, trying to clear it. "It's Sunday!" His eyes went to the alarm clock in the room. It read 5:00 in the morning. This was the only day of the week Mox got off and he wanted to sleep in.

"I don't care," Jacob said flatly. "Get up, get dressed and meet me by the van in twenty minutes."

"What's going on?" Mox asked.

"You'll see."

Before Mox could respond, Jacob left the room. Mox debated if he should just flop on the bed and go back to sleep, leave Jacob standing by the van until he realized Mox was a no show. But, he knew that wasn't likely to go over very well. Grumbling, he got up, pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He used the bathroom and brushed his teeth. As he headed downstairs, he realized that Amber and Zach were asleep. Since they were too young to be left alone, that must mean Donna wasn't in on this little Sunday morning jaunt. _What the hell is going on here?_

Jacob was sitting in the van when Mox walked into the garage. The door was open and the van was running. Mox climbed into the passenger's seat and fastened his seat belt. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?" he grumbled. "This is the only day I get to sleep in."

"I've been thinking you and I need to spend some time together," Jacob said. "I just wasn't sure what we should do. But, I've figured that one out."

"Stop at Starbucks?" Mox asked hopefully.

"Do you really need to?" Jacob asked as he pulled out of the garage and then clicked the remote to shut it.

"If you expect me to stay awake, yeah, we do," Mox said. "I'll even pay."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

By the time they picked up coffee and arrived at their destination, the sun wasn't quite up yet, but the sky was that hazy gray color that indicated daylight was coming, but didn't quite indicated what the weather would be like.

They were at some type of park, one complete with jogging paths, playground equipment, and tennis courts. Jacob parked the van near the tennis courts. "Are you going to teach me to play tennis?" Mox asked, in a decidedly unhappy tone of voice.

"Do you _want_ to learn to play tennis?" Jacob asked.

"No," Mox shook his head. "But, it does seem like the sort-of thing you'd get into." Personally, Mox thought tennis was dumb.

"Well, we'll be on the courts but we won't be playing tennis," Jacob said, as he turned off the engine and climbed out.

When they were outside of the car, Jacob went around to the back and opened it. Mox peered inside and groaned. "That fucking _bike!_ " he blurted out before he could stop himself.

"I know you've been trying to teach yourself to ride," Jacob said, as he pulled the bike out of the back. "And from the scratches on it, I'd say you weren't having the easiest time of it."

"You, me, and Mommy are athletically gifted," Mox muttered, in an exaggerated mimic of Amber. " _I_ learned to ride a bike in a day!"

"She did," Jacob confirmed. "But she also had a lower seat of gravity, no fear of falling, and to be honest? She'd been riding without using those training wheels for awhile, I just hadn't taken them off the bike. Zachary had a lot harder time of it. And then another teacher at work gave me a trick. I taught him to ride using that trick, and I'm going to teach you. Grab that tool box in the back, will you?"

"I don't think I can learn." Mox grabbed the tool box and followed Jacob as he wheeled the bike to the empty tennis courts.

"You have the determination." Jacob said as they walked into the tennis courts. He had put on a backpack too, while getting the bike. He put the bike on the kickstand and shrugged off the backpack. "Swap," He said, motioning to the tool box.

Mox accepted the backpack while handing over the tool box. "What's this for?" The backpack didn't feel very heavy.

"Open it up and put on what's inside," Jacob said, as he squatted by the bike and opened the tool box.

Mox opened the backpack. Inside was a bike helmet, that he thought looked pretty dumb, and a pair of both elbow and knee protectors. "This helmet is stupid looking."

Jacob looked up. "You know what is even stupider looking? People who constantly drool and can't even speak because they got in an accident on a bike and weren't wearing a helmet, so they have massive brain damage. You'd be _amazed_ at how stupid they look. Fortunately, most of them are too messed up to know they look stupid. Put the helmet on, Dean."

"Mox," Mox corrected, glaring at him.

"No," Jacob said. "Until you put that helmet on, I'll call you whatever I like. And right now, I'll call you Dean."

Mox put the helmet on.

By the time he had the helmet on, and the elbow and knee pads, Jacob stood up. "There."

Mox looked at the bike. Jacob had removed the pedals and lowered the seat as far as it would go. "Uh, isn't it going to be hard to use that bike without pedals?"

"Not while you're learning," Jacob said. "Get on the bike. Use your feet to propel you forward. Go around the court a few times that way."

Mox shrugged and grabbed the bike. He was pretty sure this was both futile and stupid, but the only way to prove it to Jacob was to show him. So, using his feet to propel himself, he started walking around the tennis courts. _Someone will come along soon and want to play tennis_ he told himself.

This seemed ridiculous. He could run faster than this and it was cumbersome to just walk with a bike between his legs, even if he could sit on the seat. He looked over at Jacob, hoping Jacob would say he had enough, but Jacob kept indicating he should continue. "I'd like to see you do fifty laps that way," he shouted to Mox.

 _And I want to go back to sleep,_ Mox though, even though he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep today. He started pushing the bike again, trying to go a little faster to get these fifty laps behind him.

As he sped up, he started noticing something, he was doing less walking and more coasting. He still slowed down and used his feet to take the corners, but on the long, straight parts, he was pushing off harder with his feet and then lifting them, letting the bike propel him forward. _I'm balancing,_ he thought. _Oh my god, I'm actually balanced on this thing!_

He wasn't sure if he did fifty laps or not, he stopped keeping count, but by the time Jacob stopped him, he was pretty much coasting on the bike as much as propelling himself with it. And when he coasted, he was sitting in the seat, lifting both his feet off the ground. He wasn't pedaling, but he was riding on the bike.

Jacob stopped him because people were starting to arrive to use the tennis courts. Mox expected Jacob would pack up the bike and they would try again next Sunday, but instead, Jacob lead him to an area of the park that had a bicycle path cutting through a small, grassy incline. When they got there, Jacob looked at him. "So, how comfortable do you feel balancing on this? Do you think you understand the brakes?"

Mox nodded. He wanted to blurt out that he was amazed, but he didn't want to look stupid, or possibly coming off like he couldn't believe Jacob could teach him. Yeah, he had believed Jacob couldn't teach him, but it wasn't because it was Jacob, it was because of him. Nobody would be able to teach him how to balance on a bike, he was hopeless.

"Good." Jacob nodded. Then he put the pedals back on the bike. "Now we're going to do the same thing, but this time, when you feel comfortable, try to pedal."

Mox eyed the pedals with suspicion. So far, they had been his nemesis whenever they had been on the bike. "Maybe I could just coast a little more?" he suggested.

"No, you can coast like you were born to it," Jacob said. "It's time to move on, Mox." He finished putting the pedals back on and stood up. "Let's give it a try."

He had put the pedals back on in the grass near the path. Mox took the bike by the handlebars and started rolling it towards the path, but Jacob stopped him. "Try it on the grass first. You're going to fall, but you'll be falling on grass. A lot less painful than asphalt."

So, Mox started riding on the grass. And Jacob was right, he did fall a lot, but it wasn't so bad on the grass. Also, the grass slowed him down a little, which made it easier to get the hang of how to pedal.

They were at the park for the day, only taking a break to grab something to eat at a McDonald's across the street, but by the time they were heading home, Mox could ride a bike. He still had a little hesitation on the turns, but he could do it.

"I want you to ride around the neighborhood for a couple weeks before you start riding to work," Jacob said, as they were driving home. "A couple weeks of riding every day, just for a little bit even, will give you confidence on that bike."

"How did you know I wanted to be able to ride to work?" Mox asked. His jeans were muddy and grass stained, except where the elbow and knee pads had been. He looked a mess and he was hoping Donna wouldn't be too upset. He'd be happy to do a load of laundry and get them clean again, so she wouldn't have to bother.

"I know it's been a bit of a problem arranging rides for you, and I know you knew it too," Jacob explained. "And I saw the scratches on the bike and put two and two together. You're sixteen. You have a job. You want some independence and transportation is independence. And while a bike isn't a car, it will still get you from point A to point B a lot faster than walking, and even running. And you'll be a lot less tired than running. I just want you to promise me you'll always wear a helmet when you ride. I'd like you to promise you'll wear the knee and elbow protection too, but the helmet is the most important. If I find out you road anywhere without the helmet, I will get rid of the bike. So, you promise?"

"Yeah," Mox promised. He knew he sounded a little grumpy about it, but it was almost as if he felt he had to. Deep down, he was just thrilled to be able to ride.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

When they got home, Donna was making dinner. She did sometimes cook on her days off, nothing elaborate, but tonight she was making spaghetti and garlic bread. She took one look at Mox and suggested he change and maybe shower.

Mox nodded. "I'll do a load of laundry after dinner," he said. "I don't mind. I know my clothes are a mess."

"That sounds like a deal to me," Donna said. "As long as we _all_ fold and put away. It's not fair to make you do everyone's clothing."

"It's a deal."

When Mox disappeared upstairs, Donna looked at Jacob and smiled. "I would guess from the look on his face it went well."

"It did," Jacob said. "And he can ride a bike. He promised to always wear his helmet and that he will ride around the neighborhoods for a bit before going right into driving to work."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

 **To:** bossnathanreigns

 **cc:** romanreigns , webmasterlance , mamajen , marcusreigns

 **From:** Mox

 _Hey everyone. And yeah, I am sending a copy of this to everyone, so I won't have to type it five times._

 _Jacob taught me how to ride a bike today. I was trying to teach myself, and I really sucked at it. He found out and he took me to the park and showed me. I just have a little trouble turning, but once I get good at that, I can ride a bike to HWA._

 _I'm thinking that when I get back, I might buy a bike. I want to get my license too, some day, but until I can, a bike might be nice. I'll pay for it with my own money._

 _I think I might have been wrong about Jacob. I didn't say anything, but I thought maybe he didn't like me very much, but I don't think he would have spent his entire Sunday teaching me to ride a bike._

 _I'm starting to feel less like an outsider here, but I still would rather be home with you guys._

 _Mox._


	12. Chapter 12

**FYI** Sorry if this chapter seems less polished than other chapters. To make a long story short, last week, when I should have been doing the final editing, I was pretty sick. I'm okay now, but I wasn't up to doing much of anything. But, I decided to do a quick edit and publish this chapter anyway.

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

By the time May ended, Mox could ride his bike as if he'd been riding forever, and he was enjoying it. He still loved running and always would, but there was something incredible about being able to ride a bike. It was another form of freedom and a faster one than running. And, while it wasn't as fast as a car, it could go a lot more places that a car couldn't.

So, of course, life being life, now that he had his own form of transportation to get to HWA, he wasn't able to go as often. School was out, which meant Amber and Zachary were around, but it also meant Donna and Jacob were around, too. The boys at the Smithfield school either went home, or to some special summer camp, thus a nurse and an English teacher weren't needed.

On other years, Donna would go to summer classes, trying to further her education in the nursing field, while Jacob would play house husband. But now that Mox was here, Donna was taking the summer off too, and suddenly it became all about the five of them being one, big, happy family, and "Doing things together."

So, instead of being able to work six days a week, he found himself cut down to four. Monday, Tuesday, Friday and Saturday. Three days of family fun, no make that two and a half days, because on Wednesday mornings he had to go see a talk therapist. Not Charles, he was still back in Florida. His new one was another student, female this time, Robin McKinley. Mox thought he at least got out of the talk therapist by coming out here, but nope, they couldn't even give him that.

And what _really_ pissed him off was that he had a feeling that if it wasn't for Dennis shooting that fucker Simon, and him having to witness this, he would have had the summer off from talk therapy. Of course, one could argue that the whole reason why Mox had connected with his blood family was because of Dennis shooting Simon, but, if there had been some other way they had connected that hadn't involved Mox witnessing a murder, he probably would have gotten a pass on Talk Therapy. But now, because there were "So many things going on his life," Charles and his social worker, and even Sefa and Jen had agreed he needed to see someone over the summer too. So, now he had to waste his Wednesday mornings on this talk bullshit. And it _was_ the whole morning, it seemed. Because Robin's first appointment was at ten in the morning. So, by the time he got out it was eleven, which was pretty much afternoon by then. He might have gone to HWA in the morning, arriving at six and opened the place, worked out, and then biked over to Robin's office, but nope, instead, Donna thought it would be a good time to have a leisurely family breakfast. So, that ended up eating away the morning.

He had expected to get a lot of flack when he told Cory and Les about having to change his hours, the least being to ask him if he really did want to be a professional wrestler, or if he was just playing games. God knew he got hazed about everything else by everyone else that worked or came for lessons. But Les and Cory had been extremely understanding, to the point where Mox suspected Sefa might have had a talk with them and told them that while Mox was willing and eager to work, he also was supposed to be down there to get to know his biological family and that should be first priority.

Of course, that didn't stop the other trainers, wrestlers, and students from giving him grief. But that had been going on since the day he started and Mox had the feeling it was some type of test he had to endure. Some of the younger students were his age, but none of them worked there, they were paying for their schooling, which made them see Mox, who worked for his lessons, as some type of servant who they could order around.

It had been different in SPWA. Yes, he'd cleaned up puke and cleaned up the camp, and done all of that, even more grunt work than he was doing here, but he'd also been doing it as a member of the family, chipping in to help the family business. Even before the days when Mox started calling Sefa Dad and Jen Mom, he was still introduced as if he were a member of the family. And the campers and non campers had always treated him with the respect you would give your bosses son, knowing he was there to learn the business from the ground up. Mox considered that he was working to cover his lessons, but everyone else seemed to think that he was in training for the day when he might retire from wrestling and come to the camp and run the place when Sefa retired.

At HWA it was different. He was the kid who worked to earn lessons. Thus, some of the other students looked at him as if he were there to be at their beck and call. The older wrestlers, the ones who came and went and who were good enough to always be in the house shows and always ended up on TV treated him like a cross between a worker and a mascot.

Summer meant that some of the teenagers could come for lessons during the day, which meant that Mox's private lessons were now more likely to have more than just him as a student. That didn't bother Mox too much, because Mox knew he was at least as good as any of them, and a lot better than most. Heartland didn't even allow students under the age of sixteen, and you had to have your parent's permission if you weren't eighteen. Mox had been training since just before he was sixteen. Most of these kids had school and other activities most of the year and while Mox had chores, working at the camp, and studying for his GED, he spent every other free moment he could, wrestling. He had lived in a wrestling camp, and in free time, even if he didn't have an instructor, he could practice the basic moves, run the ropes, faceplant, elbow roll, back fall, so on and so forth. The moves that could be combined in various ways to look like complicated moves, especially when worked with another person. A face plant could be worked into a DDT if you had someone you were wrestling with. A good bounce off the ropes could snap you forward and as you were propelled forward, either you could grab someone or they could grab you and do a side slam, which was one of his big finishers, and when he did it, it was called Moxicity. He was always practicing, always working out, always pushing for that goal, to be a professional wrestler. Half these kids who were taking lessons, paid for by Mommy or Daddy, were just doing it for fun. The moment it got hard, the moment the pain lasted more than just one afternoon, the moment they had a girlfriend or boyfriend who wanted their time, they'd drop this. Mox wouldn't. Mox didn't want to date, Mox had dealt with far worse pain than this most of his life, and this was the most important thing in the world to Mox.

So, he gritted his teeth and tried not to think about what he could be doing when he went to see Robin McKinley to talk. He played the same games with her he played with Charles back in Florida, trying to avoid talking about anything Charles wanted to talk about, like his past, like the Timmy days.

Robin was a little more clever than Charles, Mox discovered. She would let him talk about anything he wanted, which usually was wrestling. So, he would be telling her what he learned, what happened on Raw, what was going on with the HWA shows, and somehow that would lead to things without him quite understanding what had happened. Like one time, he was talking about how he and another student, a kid named Adam, had been doing some moves, practicing, when Adam botched a move, that caused Mox to get his foot tangled in the ropes and to end up falling backwards and upside down, smacking his head into the ring apron. He was telling her the story, amused by it, but she had winced.

"That sounds really painful, Mox," she said. "Did you see a doctor to make sure you were all right?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It was no big deal. I didn't smack my head that hard and I got out of the mess pretty fast. Adam was more freaked out about it than I was. Cody was pissed off at the botch, and afraid I'd really gotten hurt.

"I can see why Cody would be!"

He shrugged. "It's not that big of a deal. I spent a lot of my childhood being strung up for a lot longer than a couple minutes. Rarely upside down, but a few times I was. And we're talking an hour or more at a time. Sometimes most of a day. I've been hung up so long that I've fallen asleep. A minute or so is nothing, even upside down."

" _This_ was an accident, those other times weren't," she said. Not looking eager, just looking the same as she always did, interested, yet slightly detached from the situation. As if she were watching a documentary on something. "Why were you hung up?"

 _Oh great,_ he found himself thinking, _I walked right into this pile of shit. I just volunteered that information._ "Various things," he finally said. "It was one of my f-, I mean, Dennis's favorite punishments. Hanging me up in the basement. At least in the beginning."

"Why do you think he liked punishing you that way? And why do you think he backed off on that punishment later?"

"It made me feel helpless," he answered. "I couldn't do anything, and the longer I was chained to the pipes, the more it hurt. I'd get to the point where the pain would be so bad, or I'd be so numb that my brain would go numb. Do it for awhile, and soon enough you'll do whatever anyone wants, just to be able to get the blood circulating again, to drive away the numbness that's pain, too. And soon enough you start telling yourself you'll do _anything_ to not have it happen. So, you start cooperating."

Then he realized that there he was, talking about it, and realizing she'd tricked him into it. And when he confronted her about it, she told him that he had brought it up, by telling her how he had a lot worse than his fall at the school. "I think that part of you realizes you have to talk about this," she said. "That it needs to come out in the open."

She got him talking about things before he realized he was even doing it. But, she also wouldn't keep pushing if he really got insistent that he was not going to discuss something, which was one of the good things about her. But he still would prefer he just didn't have to see her at all. He could think of a lot better things to do on Wednesday morning than to talk to someone who didn't seem to understand that most of the time, he wanted to forget his past. He knew he couldn't forget his past, but it would be nice if his past could be seen as less of a big deal than everyone seemed to think it was. He didn't want to tell people some of it, and there were things he never wanted anyone to know. But a talk Therapists job seemed to be to get you to discuss that which you most didn't want to discuss. Mox didn't get it. Every time he said something about life with Dennis and Simon, it went the same way. He told. Therapist tried to look as if this was no big deal, but usually failed. Questions were asked like, "Why do you think that happened to you?" or, "How did that make you feel?" And then came the grand finale, "None of that was your fault, Mox."

In Mox's opinion, therapy could be streamlined easily. Just give everyone a note card that said, "It's not your fault," and tell them to read it whenever they started thinking about the bad things. By now, he'd heard that so many times he was sick of it. Yeah, he got it, it wasn't his fault. He wasn't responsible, he was just a little boy, so on and so forth ad nauseam. But _words_ weren't going to help him. Words and talking about it, all that did was remind him that it had happened. Talk therapy seemed to Mox to be all about living in the past, and the more miserable your past the more you needed to live there. His life was a whole lot better now, even if he was staying with this family where despite sharing blood with three of them, he still didn't feel as at home as he did with the Reigns. He'd rather be with the Reigns, but that was hardly in the same category as living with Dennis and Simon. So, what was the point? To keep him living in the past so he couldn't enjoy the present?

Wednesday mornings could mess him up badly enough that it was hard to go home and play happy family with folks he was having trouble considering to be his family. He stammeringly explain this to Donna once, and she told him that she would see what she could do.

The very next Tuesday, while they were eating dinner (one of those twelve piece dinners from KFC) Donna announced that Wednesdays were to be "Dad and Twin's day." When Jacob questioned that, Donna responded with, "Because Wednesday afternoons are Mox and my day. I have a lot of catching up to do with him and while I love the time we spend as a family, I want some time alone with Mox. We have Thursday and Sunday for all five of us to play together, but Wednesday are for Mox and I. He's got therapy in the morning, so we'll have the afternoons."

Mox had been suspicious of this announcement, thinking that Donna would expect them to have some fantastic bonding moments or something, but it turned out, she did it to give him time to decompress from therapy. If Jacob and the twins were in the house, they would go to a park or something. And if Mox just wanted to sit there and brood, she never said a word. If he wanted to try to blow it all out of his mind, by talking about anything else, they would talk. She told him stuff from his past, when he was a baby and a toddler. They went to a diner for lunch a lot, a favorite place of hers, that she said Jacob thought was too much of a greasy spoon. He told her about the diner in Florida, how it was the first restaurant he had been in since he was taken. Donna told him that she had taken him to McDonalds a couple times, because that was about all the fine dining out she could afford back then. They both would order breakfast at the diner, because they both agreed there was something awesome about eating breakfast food, _rea_ l breakfast food, not fancy brunch food, for lunch.

If Jacob had the twins out for the day, they would go to the house and if he wanted to talk, they talked. If he didn't, they didn't. One time, after a bad session where he wished he could have taken back all the words he'd told Robin, they came home and he didn't want to talk, but he didn't want to be alone with this thoughts. They sat in the den together. Donna suggested they order a pizza for lunch, which they did. After it was delivered, she went into the master bedroom and brought out a bunch of DVD's, most of them Wrestlemania DVD's. "I got these the other day," she said. "They weren't expensive, and I thought you and I could watch them."

So, they ate pizza and watched some older Wrestlemanias. None of the video tapes he'd watched as "Timmy" were Wrestlemania, so these were new to him. It was just the two of them, watching wrestling, eating pizza and drinking soda. And she didn't even stand on the formality of glasses. She came out with a two liter bottle of Pepsi, and a two liter bottle of Barq's root beer. She handed Mox the Barq's and they just swigged it right out of the bottle. They finished the bottles before Jacob and the twins came home, which lead to Mox burping a whole lot this evening and her doing some herself. Every time Jacob or the twins called them out on it, they would look at each other and smirk, or cover their hands with their mouths to try to stop the laughing.

Donna wasn't Jen. Mox was pretty sure he would never be able to think of her like a mother as much as he did, Jen. But, Donna was all right. She was a mother to Zachary and Amber, but she seemed to realize that since he was older, it was a little hard to play mother. Especially since he had Jen. So, she was more like an aunt. A favorite Aunt who wasn't afraid to do things Jen might not approved of, but weren't exactly wrong. There was no law against chugging soda straight out or the bottle, but it was not the type of thing Jen would have approved of.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Thursdays and Sundays were total family days. Like, "Let's go out and do things!" family days. Amber always seemed to want to go to the park, or Twist and Shout, which Mox thought was pretty much a park inside of a building, or at least a playground inside of a building. The first time he saw the inside, Mox realized that the place was for kids. The parents had tables where they could sit and talk to other parents and drink horrible coffee. About the only place where there were people his age was the room off the side, where older video games and pinball machines were. He thought video games were boring. Pinball was a little better, except sometimes he'd tilt the machine and one of the "Attendants" who wore black and white striped shirts like they were referees or something, would tell him, "Please don't do that anymore." And Mox would try not to and then forget and do it again. The food there was terrible too, especially the pizza. The sauce was sweet instead of savory, the cheese bland. The soda even seemed to be slightly flat.

If Zach had his choice, they'd go to the kid's museum, which was slightly more interesting, but most of the activities were meant for young children. Not teenagers.

The big problem seemed to be that Mox was the fifth wheel. Amber and Zach had each other. Donna and Jacob had each other. Mox was the loner, the one that sat by himself on rides if they went to the amusement park or a carnival. Or, he sat next to a stranger. Sometimes Donna would sit a ride out, and Mox would go on a couple rides with Zachary, but he knew Donna liked the thrill of a lot of carnival rides and he didn't want to take that away from her.

He tried not to act broody and put out, like many of the other kids around his age that seemed to be in the park with their families. The ones that stayed slightly behind their family, as if trying to look distant enough that people wouldn't associate that they were their with their family, while being close enough so their family wouldn't yell at them to catch up.

Mox knew what the Brooding Teenager was, because sometimes Roman could be one. Not often, Roman was pretty outgoing and one of those guys who liked being with people. If the only people he could be with were family, well, better than being alone and there were many times when he actually enjoyed the company of his family. But, occasionally, something in Roman's head seemed to remind him that he was a teenager and therefore, in public, with his family, he was supposed to brood. Usually Lance would start talking to him, saying ridiculous things until Roman couldn't help but laugh. But, a couple times, Mox had taken it upon himself to slide up to Roman, stand next to him, slouch his shoulders and mimic Roman's brooding face, but a little more exaggerated. If Roman didn't notice he was being mimicked, Mox would start doing everything that Roman did. Roman scratched his face, Mox scratched his face. Roman sighed, Mox sighed.

The first time, Roman put up with this for about three minutes, then looked at Mox. "What are you doing?" it was one of the only times Mox heard anger in Roman's voice. Usually, anger made him cringe, but Mox knew well enough by then, that Roman could get furious with him, but he would never attack him. Mox wasn't sure why, because Roman had no problem physically fighting with his older brother, but Mox was off limits, just as Lance was.

"I'm pretending to be an asshole," Mox said, trying to mirror Roman's look right back at him. "How am I doing?"

Roman's first reaction was to roll his eyes, then, as if it all hit him how absurd this was, first he smiled, then chuckled. "Okay, you got me."

"Are you sure?" Mox asked. "Because I can keep doing this, if you want."

"No, it's okay, please stop."

That was usually all it took. Mox had done enough brooding in his younger years. When you lived most of your life in a basement, doing what he had done, brooding was essential, at least when alone. He got why brooding happened, and that sometimes it was an appropriate reaction. Lance brooding on his mortality seemed perfectly normal, because Lance had brushed so close to death and still might be dancing on the edge of it. Roman brooding about Lance's mortality seemed normal because Roman loved Lance, and since it was Roman's blood that was supposed to help Lance stay in remission, Mox got why Roman might want to brood about it. But Roman brooding because he had to go to an event with his parents and brothers? That just didn't fly on Mox's radar. So, Mox did his best to smile and look like he was fine with being the odd one out on these family outings.

Donna and Jacob tried to pull him in, but it was hard. Zach and Amber were young enough that they needed watching, and, as much as Donna would like to believe otherwise, Mox _was_ an outsider. For six, going on seven years, it has been Jacob and Donna and their two kids, Zachary and Amber. Then, suddenly, Mox, a sixteen year old kid was here, and Donna wanted to just wedge him in and it just wasn't going to happen very easily.

He wondered though, why he had managed to fit in with the Reigns so well, but couldn't fit in with the Ambrose/Millers. Maybe it was because Roman was close to his age. Or, maybe it was because he just stumbled into them and they had no expectations of him at the beginning, or, maybe it was because he had imprinted on the Reigns and they on him, the first people since he was five to care for him and later grow to love him.

Donna tried so hard to draw him in that he almost felt sorry for her. He didn't quite know how to tell her, but if she was with him, they got along well. If he and Jacob went out together, it was okay. There were even a couple times when Zach and Amber were with friends, and the three of them had been together, and that had gone well too.

It was like when the family was together, the four of them, they were a salad, different ingredients all working in harmony. And Mox felt like he was chocolate syrup trying to pass for salad dressing. But, Mox did his best to at least try not to look like chocolate syrup when they were all together in public.

But his favorite days were the ones he worked. Again, the work was hard, the work was often unpleasant, but it _was_ work and it was wrestling related work. And, it came with wrestling lessons. Mox worked hard, learned fast, and refused to let anything get to him. Sure, a lot of the wrestlers and students treated him like he was to be at their beck and call, with their, "Hey, kid, go get me some water." "Hey, kid, get me a towel." "Hey, kid, you need to go clean the bathroom, it's a mess!" But he dealt with the hazing and it was actually starting to get better. Les and Cody were starting to show an interest in his training, and helping him. Other instructors began using him to demonstrate how moves were done. People began calling him "Mox" instead of "Hey, Kid!" Kids his own age stopped treating him as something inferior, as if he were just the janitor or the kid that ran the concession stand, and started treating him as an equal. A few even asked him if he wanted to go out and party with them at night. Mox passed on the partying, usually using the excuse that he was out here to be with his mother for the summer, and she was a stickler for family time. The kids his age seemed to understand that, probably thinking of some joint custody situation, and Mox didn't disillusion them. The truth was, Mox didn't want to party, because he was afraid that drinking and drugs would be involved and he would like it too much.

He was starting to feel at home in Heartland.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Mox had a locker where he locked his cell phone every day. He couldn't have it on him when he was taking lessons, and he felt when he was working, he needed to be working, not playing on a cell phone. And, sometimes it was hard to resist looking at texts, especially if they came from any of the Reign's family. He had explained this to Donna and Jacob, telling them that if they needed him, they would have to call the gym itself, but he asked them please to not call unless it was a real emergency, because he didn't want to have to get grief over "Getting a call from your Mommy?" Donna agreed and told him that if there was information she wanted him to know, but wasn't an emergency, she would text him. He, in return, said he would check his phone for text when he had his lunch break.

So, he was surprised one day, when he went to check his cell phone before going to lunch, and it rang, and the screen told him the call was from Donna.

"Hello?"

"Thank god it's you," Donna said, her voice frantic. "And I'm so sorry I had to call you, but I knew you took your lunch around noon. And I wouldn't call you, but this is kind of an emergency!"

"What's wrong?" Mox asked, immediately on alert. Donna wasn't exactly a drama queen, if she said this was an emergency, then it was an emergency.

"Jacob," Mox could hear tears in her voice. "He fell off the roof."

"Holy shit," Mox said, before he could stop himself. "He's… alive?"

"Yes," Donna said. "But he couldn't move. I had to call an ambulance, and they're taking him to the hospital. I want to go there, but Amber and Zach-"

"I'm on my way home," Mox said, getting what was going on right away. "I'll watch them."

"Thank you," Donna said, sniffling. "I know this is a lot to ask you for, but-"

"But nothing," Mox interrupted, already headed out of the locker room. "I'll ride as fast as I can, I promise. Are the Johnson's home?" The Johnson's were the neighbors who had the famous Britney, she of the doll hair, who was best friends with Amber. "Could they watch Amber and Zach until I get home so you can leave right now?" He was looking around frantically, trying to find someone in charge.

"They left for vacation this morning!"

 _Of course they did, of all the shitty luck._ "Okay, I'll ride like the wind, I promise. Hang tight, I just have to find someone and let them know. I'll be home soon." He hung up the phone before she could say anything else, because he saw Les talking with one of the wrestlers, a guy named Faulk Finnegan who also wrestled under the same name.

"Mr. Thatcher," Mox said, even though Les had given him permission to call him "Les" over a week ago.

"What's up, Mox?" Les looked him up and down, a look of concern on his face. "Are you sick? You're pale as a ghost."

"My… my stepfather," Mox said. "He's been in an accident. Donna had to call an ambulance, he fell off the roof. She wants to go to the hospital, but someone has to watch my younger brother and sister. I'm sorry, but I have to go home."

"Of course you do," Les said nodding.

"Oh wow," Faulk said, shaking his head. "You ride a bike, don't you?" When Mox nodded, he continued, "Your bike will fit in my trunk, why don't I drive you home, it will be faster."

Normally, Mox would refuse, he had a panic attack inducing fear of getting into vehicles with strangers, but this was an emergency, so he nodded. And it wasn't like Faulk was a complete stranger, he was actually one of the few wrestlers who never tried to haze Mox, but always treated him well. "I would really appreciate that, Mr. Finnegan,"

"Call me Faulk. Go and get your things, I'll put your bike in the trunk." Mox was allowed to bring his bike into the gym, and he parked it near the exit. "Meet me by my car."

Mox raced to his locker and pulled out his backpack and gym clothes, then raced out to the parking lot. He saw Faulk sliding his bike in the trunk, and sure enough, it fit fine. "Get in," Faulk called out. "Where do you live?"

Mox rattled off the address as he opened the door and tossed his backpack into the back seat.

Faulk shut the trunk door, and got into the car. "Isn't that near the Smithfield School?" he asked.

Mox nodded. "They live in that subdivision about four miles from there." He fastened his seat belt.

"I think I know exactly where they are," Faulk said. "Hang on, I'll do what I can to get you there, fast."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Faulk was true to his word, racing through the streets. "Call your Mom, and tell her you'll be home faster, you've got a ride," he suggested to Mox. "It might make her feel better."

"Okay," Mox said, pulling out his phone and dialing Donna's number. Part of him wanted to correct Faulk on the "mother" thing, but technically, he wasn't wrong.

She answered on the first ring. "Donna, I'm on my way home," Mox said, before she could finish saying hello. "One of the wrestlers, he's giving me a ride and he drives like a bat out of hell."

"Don't get yourself killed!" Donna said. "I've got enough with Jacob, I don't need to be worried about you!"

"He seems to be a good driver," Mox said. "I'll be home soon. Are Amber and Zach okay?"

"They didn't see him fall," Donna explained. "He was up on the roof to get Amber's Frisbee and she was in the house getting a drink. I was in the living room, I saw him falling!" Her voice quivered for a moment, but she continued, "I told the twins he'd fallen, but I made it sound like it was no big deal. They're both frightened, but they think he probably just sprained an ankle or something. Mox, he fell on his back! He hit his head, too! What if he's paralyzed? What if he's got a brain injury?"

 _Let's hope Zach and Amber aren't listening from another room,_ Mox thought, knowing that was exactly what Lance would be doing. "Donna, don't buy trouble, okay?" He winced inwardly, knowing that was such a bullshit thing to say, of course she was going to think the worst. He would too.

He was aware of Faulk looking at him from time to time, but he said nothing, clearly concentrating on the road.

It seemed like forever, but it was actually almost no time at all before Faulk was pulling up to the house. As he started to unbuckle his seat belt, Faulk reached over the console and put his hand on Mox's knee. "It's going to be okay, Mox," he said, his voice soft. Mox stared down at the hand on his bare knee, below the shorts he wore for wrestling lessons, part of him wanting to go into his "please don't touch me" speech, but realizing Faulk didn't know about the no touching rule. Faulk was a wrestler and while the two of them hadn't wrestled, that didn't mean they wouldn't, someday. _He's worried about you, Mox. Worried about Jacob and Donna. It's cool._

"You go in the house so your mother can get going," Faulk suggested. "Your brother and sister are probably scared. Tell your mom to leave the garage door open, I'll put the bike in the garage for you. I'll put your backpack with it."

"Thanks," Mox said, and got out of the car, running to the front door.

End Chapter Twelve


	13. Chapter 13

**Please Read This** : There was stuff written here before that I have edited out. It was written by my husband, who meant the best, and was being honest, but the honesty he professed was also stirring up shit.

This doesn't mean that I don't agree with what he said about a certain user who decided to troll me, it just means that I've gotten too weary to fight battles with insensitive, stupid, people. I have better things to do.

* * *

.

 **Chapter Thirteen**

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

It took less than fifteen minutes to get Donna out of the house and there was a small part of Mox that was worried she wouldn't be able to get to the hospital safely. "Do you want me to call Jacob's brother and ask him to come get you?" he offered.

That seemed to snap her out of her flustered, confused, half panicked state. "No," she said, "I'll-I'll be fine, you just watch the kids."

The kids were sitting on the sofa in the family room. hunched over and close to each other, not sure of what was going, confused, and probably frightened too. "Are you sure?" Mox asked. "Because I'll be happy to call him." He'd only met Peter Miller a couple times, but he seemed okay. And, he was a cop, which meant he could drive over breaking all type of traffic laws, with the sirens on, which seemed like a useful thing to Mox. He was wondering why Donna, who was a nurse, was falling apart over this. _It must be different when it's someone you love. Either that, or she knows more than most about how bad this could be._

"I'm sure," Donna said, gathering up her purse. She hugged the twins and told them to be good for Mox. Mox told her to leave the door open so Faulk could get his bike in the garage.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Once she was gone, the twins had gone back to sitting on the couch looking confused. "Is our Daddy gonna die?" Amber asked, getting right to the heart of things.

 _Interesting question_ , Mox thought, because honestly, he had no clue. "No," he answered.

"How do _you_ know?" Zach said, his voice equal measures of belligerent and scared. "He fell off the _roof,_ he's not _superman."_

Mox thought for a moment, then said, "He can't die, your mother won't let him."

Amber and Zach looked at each other then at him, weighing if Mox was trying to have one over on him, or if it was true. While they sorted that out, Mox went and closed the door to the garage, seeing that his bike and backpack were safely inside and Faulk's car was gone. Then he pulled out his cell phone and used it to call the police station where Peter Miller worked. Peter was with someone, the person who answered the phone told him, but he could leave a message.

"Yeah, tell him his… well, tell him Mo-" he stopped, realizing that might confuse Peter for a moment, "-Tell him Dean Ambrose called. His brother has been in an accident and was taken to the hospital by ambulance. I don't know how bad it is, but I'm here with his niece and nephew. We're okay, but he might want to go to the hospital, if he can and see if his brother is all right. And possibly put out some sort-of alert to any other officers to watch out for his sister in law's car and realize she's probably going too fast because she wants to get to the hospital."

He also gave out his cell phone number, in case Peter wanted to call. When that was done, he walked back into the house to find the kids. They were still on the sofa. "We want to go to the hospital and see Dad." Zach said.

"Okay," Mox said, deciding _not_ to tell them how stupid an idea that was, but to try logic instead. "We can't walk, it's too far. And we all can't fit on my bike, and it's too far for you to ride your bikes. So, how do you suggest we get there?"

" _You_ could drive Daddy's car," Amber said. "I know where he keeps his keys."

"I don't know how to drive," Mox admitted.

"Then what use _are_ you?" Zach asked.

"Not much," Mox said, not feeling all that offended. He knew Zach was mostly expressing frustration about the accident. "But, even if we could get there, they probably won't let you see your Dad. So, we might as well stay here."

"He's _your_ dad, too, you know," Amber said.

"No," Mox said. "He's _you_ r dad, but not mine. That doesn't mean I'm not worried about him though. But I'm sure your mom will call when she has news."

"She's _your_ mom, too," Amber reminded him.

"Well, in one way, yes," Mox said. "But I don't really think of her as a mother, like you two do. I like her, but Jen is my mother with my other family."

"Why do you have another family?" Zach asked. "Mom says you were taken away from her. Where were you all those years? With this other family? Did they take you?"

"No, they didn't. They found me," Mox said. "I ran away from the people who took me. They weren't good people. The Reigns took me in, gave me a real home." He had a funny feeling this line of questioning was going to lead him down a rabbit hole he might not be able to find his way out of. "Look, there's no point in just waiting around, let's play a game or something." The Reigns didn't really play board games, but the Miller's did sometimes have what they called "Game nights." He went to the closet where the games were kept and pulled a few of them down. "What do we start with?"

Zach wanted Monopoly Jr. Amber wanted Hungry Hungry Hippos. Mox didn't much care one way or another, but he suggested they start with Hungry Hungry Hippos, explaining to Zach that Hungry Hungry Hippos didn't take long to play, so they could play a few games to make Amber happy, then play Monopoly Jr. Zach agreed, only a little bit reluctantly, but as Mox expected, as they started to play, Zach started getting into it. They played several games, then Mox's cell phone went off. The screen told him it was Peter Miller. He told the kids to keep playing, then went into another room to talk privately.

"Detective Miller?"

"Dean, you can call me, Peter," Peter said.

"And you can call me _Mox,"_ Mox responded, even though he was pretty sure Peter would forget. "Did you get my message?"

"Yes I did," Peter said. "I called over to the hospital, they're checking him out. I'm going to drive by there when I get off duty in a couple hours. Do you want me to take the kids and bring them over to our place? You're welcome to come too, of course."

For a moment, Mox was tempted to say yes, that sounded like a great idea to him, not to go himself, but to let Peter and his wife just take Zach and Amber out of here and then he could be alone. Maybe he would ride his bike to the hospital. Then he remembered that Donna had put him in charge. And while he knew she would understand, Mox didn't want to look weak. And he knew the kids would want to be here, so that when their mom and dad returned, they would all be reunited. "No, it's okay," he said. "I've got it handled, we're playing board games."

"Are you sure? I could bring Molly over there and drop her off. Or, after we visit the hospital, we could both come over."

Now Mox was a little irritated. Did they really think he couldn't handle it? He wasn't helpless. "No, we'll be fine," he said, a little strongly. "You stay with Donna and your brother. Do you know anything about how Jacob is doing?"

"They're taking him in for tests," Peter said, giving in to Mox and dropping the subject of taking over Amber and Zach. "But, he's not unconscious anymore. They suspect a concussion but he's fairly coherent. They want to make sure his back is all right. too, so I'm sure he's getting an MRI. I don't know if they will keep him overnight, but I'm he'll be there for several hours, just to make sure he doesn't have severe symptoms, like chronic vomiting. They'll make sure he doesn't have a headache and that he can hold down some food and liquid."

"Well, when you go to the hospital, please tell Donna that Zach and Amber are fine and we're all hoping she and Jacob will be home, soon."

When they got off the phone, Mox went back into the family room and told them that their father was awake, but they had to make sure he was going to be all right before they sent him home.

" _All_ right?" Amber repeated. "What isn't _right_ about him, now?"

"He's got a hurt head and a sore back," Mox said, trying to keep this in simple terms. "They want to make sure that's the worst he has. But he's awake, and that's a _very_ good sign."

Amber and Zach smiled at him weakly, trying to look brave, but failing miserably. Mox sighed. "Your Uncle Peter and Aunt Molly are willing to come over and stay with you, or take you home with them if you want." He didn't want to fail at this, but maybe he should have thought of the kids, first.

The twins looked at each other, then at him. "No," Zach finally said. "We'll just stay here with you."

"That's what I told your Uncle Peter," Mox said.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

They started playing Monopoly Jr. and were halfway through the first game when the house phone rang. Mox went into the kitchen to answer it, telling the kids to take turns playing for him. He knew he'd likely be broke by the time he returned, but he didn't care. He picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Mox!" It was Donna. "How are the twins?"

"They're doing fine," Mox said, "Worried of course, we all are. How's Jacob?"

"He has a sprained back," Donna said. "And a concussion. We're going to be here for awhile. They won't make him stay overnight, but they want to monitor him in case it gets worse."

As she spoke, Mox could hear the sounds of traffic and people walking about, leading him to think she was outside. "Peter called. He'll be stopping by when he gets off work." Mox looked at the clock. "That should be in a little over an hour."

"Are you going to be okay?" Donna asked. "Are Zach and Amber being good?"

"Pretty much," Mox said. "We played Hungry Hungry Hippos and now we're playing Monopoly Jr. They're worried, of course."

"Tell them their Dad will be fine," Donna said. "I mean, I _think_ he will be, the doctors seem to think he will be, so tell them he'll be fine, don't worry them."

"I won't," Mox said, and while he believed she was telling the truth, he still got a feeling of desperation from her, like she was feeling overwhelmed. "Donna, are you outside? And are you okay?"

"Yes," Donna said. "They don't want you to use cell phones in the hospital, so I went outside. I think I'm going to be okay."

 _"Think?"_

"There is a gas station slash convenient store across the street," Donna said slowly. "And for the first time in years, I want to go buy a pack of cigarettes."

Mox remembered Sam, no actually his name was Simon and his perpetual smoking. Sometimes Simon gave Timmy cigarettes and Timmy smoked them, but not enough to get hooked on them. Donna mentioning cigarettes made him suddenly slightly queasy and he would have sworn that for a moment, he smelled that smell, Marlboro reds, that always clung to Simon. And under that, the copper smell of blood after Dennis had shot him. "Donna, don't do that," Mox said. "You haven't smoked in how many years?" He also had a vague memory of when he was younger, before Dennis and Sam, of Donna and her friends smoking cigarettes, probably whatever brand was cheapest, and the tiny apartment they lived in having a blue haze to it.

"Since the day I married Jacob." Donna's voice sounded small. "I know I shouldn't, and I won't, but god I sure _want_ to."

"How about you get yourself a Hershey bar instead?" Mox suggested, knowing she loved chocolate. "I'll bet they sell those too and it will be a lot cheaper than a deck of smokes." He was falling into the slang Simon used sometimes and it bothered him. _Deck of smokes, box of coffin nails, cancer sticks, and more I'll probably remember bit by bit for the rest of my life_.

"And they probably sell Hershey bars in the gift shop in the hospital," Donna said and her voice got a little brighter. "Maybe I'll do that instead. Are you going to be okay with the kids?"

"I'll be fine, Donna," Mox said, hoping he sounded calm and reassuring. "And so will Zach and Amber. You just worry about Jacob, okay?" He wanted to ask her if all that was going on was Jacob being monitored, why couldn't she bring him home and do it here? After all, she was a nurse, right? But, if she was so upset that she was ready to start smoking again, Mox thought that bringing that up might make it worse. Besides, they had equipment at the hospital that they didn't have here, that they might need. Or, maybe Donna couldn't handle helping her own family, for fear she'd mess it up and make things worse?

"Okay," Donna agreed. "I just wanted to check in and tell you that… well, things aren't so bad over here. Jacob will be okay, we'll just be a long time."

"Why don't I bring the phone into the family room?" Mox said. "And you can say hi to the kids. They can tell you for themselves that they're fine, you can tell them Jacob is fine. When you're done, then you can buy a Hershey bar and go back to Jacob."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

As afternoon wore on, board games were dropped for watching movies. He suggested once that maybe they could watch wrestling, but the nose wrinkle he got from both kids made him realize that Donna might have tried to show her kids wrestling, but someone had shot it down, likely Jacob. He liked Jacob and all, and would be forever grateful for the bike lessons, but he knew Jacob was not fond of wrestling. Not that he had ever said anything to Mox about it, but just his general reaction any time the subject came up. Like he was trying to be nice, but really wanted to say, "Why would you waste your time on _fake_ fighting? It's not like its _real_ or anything."

So, they watched _The Lion King_ , _The Emperor's New Groove_ , and another kid's movie whose title escaped him. But, as the day drew out into evening, it hit Mox that he and the kids really needed to eat something for dinner. Mox doubted any of them had eaten lunch.

He had a feeling that if he mentioned food, the kids would be reminded that they hadn't eaten since breakfast, and would want food in front of them, instantly. Mox sort of felt that way himself, now that he thought about it. So, while the kids were engrossed in their third movie, the one whose name he didn't even remember, he got up and slipped into the kitchen. As quietly as possible, he started to look through cabinets, cupboards, and the refrigerator. Donna was not a cook, not like Jen was. At first Mox had been a little suspicious of her for that, but then he realized that Donna worked long, hard, hours when the school was open, and usually went to college herself in the summer and tried to cram as much learning as possible into a very short amount of time. There were restaurants that delivered, and there were things that could be made by opening cans. Donna just wasn't into cooking and that wasn't a crime.

Mox saw cans of soup and considered those. Wasn't soup a comfort food? But he also remembered that canned soup tasted like salt. Jen's insistence on home made soups had ruined him for those red and white cans. He saw blue boxes of mac and cheese and his mind went to Jen, making homemade macaroni and cheese. She didn't make it often, but when she did, it was delicious. Rich and creamy, or if she baked it, there would be an added layer of crunchy on top. . You couldn't help but be comforted by Jen's macaroni and cheese. If food could be translated into actions, Jen's macaroni and cheese was a friendly hug from someone you trusted. The stuff in the blue boxes, while he knew Zach and Amber loved it, tasted gritty to him.

He felt a longing inside of him, both cold and painful, as if someone stabbed him with an icicle. At that moment, he missed Jen more than he had ever missed anyone. And right behind Jen was Sefa and Roman and Lance and Marc. Emails and texts were not enough. He wanted to _be_ with them. He wanted Jen to hug him, Sefa to put his arm around his shoulders, and Roman or Marc to punch his shoulder or give him a fist bump, or a high five. God help him, he even wanted Lance to throw himself in Mox's arms, like he did just before he and Sefa came here.

 _Grow the hell up,_ he ordered himself. _This is no time to be homesick._ Because he knew that's what he was feeling, he was homesick. And while being homesick wasn't a crime, it wasn't going to get him and the kids fed either.

He took the house phone and crept into the garage, knowing the kids would be fine for a few minutes. Before he could stop himself, he dialed the one phone number he knew by heart, the number for the Reigns family.

It was Jen who answered. "Hello?"

"Mom," was all he could manage for a moment, the sound of her voice making him want to burst into tears like a baby.

"Oh, Jon!" Jen's voice was equal parts delight and panic. "Are you all right? Is everything okay?"

"No," he said in a small voice, then had to wait for a moment to pull himself together before he could talk.

"What's wrong?" Jen asked, instantly in her "worried mom" voice. "Honey, talk to me. What's going on?"

He managed to pull himself together and told her about what happened to Jacob and how Donna was at the hospital and he was watching the kids and how he knew they all should eat dinner, but he was at a loss what to do. He had enough cash to order pizza or something, but that he wanted to give the kids _real_ food, _comfort_ food, but he had no clue how to do it. He told her about the boxed Mac & Cheese and the canned soup. "Donna doesn't worry much about cooking," He admitted.

"Well," Jen said and her voice was hesitant, as if she wanted to state her opinion about a mother who didn't like to cook and it would not be favorable. "You can use the boxed stuff and doctor it so it tastes more like real macaroni and cheese. It won't be perfect, but it will taste better than straight from the box."

As she began listing off things he would need to do this, he realized almost none of it was in the house. There was a store about two miles away, he could likely ride there pretty fast and get home quickly, but he was pretty sure you didn't leave six year olds home alone in a house. He was about to tell Jen that doctoring the box stuff would be impossible, when his cell phone rang. "Hang on, Mom."

He popped the cell phone out of his pocket and looked at the caller screen. He didn't recognize the number, but it had an Ohio exchange, so he answered it. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mox."

Mox recognized the voice instantly, "Hey Faulk."

"I just was calling to see if everything was okay with your father and all."

Again, Mox wanted to correct him, on the father thing, but he had too much going on right now. "He's okay. He has a concussion and maybe a sprained back. They'll keep him in the Emergency room to monitor him, but Donna is there. It's going to be fine." He crossed his fingers. "It's just going to be a long time before she'll be able to get him out of there."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Look Faulk, no offense," Mox began, "But I've got my real mom… well, the woman I call mom on the house phone and I don't want to keep her too long."

"Oh, of course, I understand," Faulk said hastily, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and see if there was anything I could do, anything you need that I could bring over. I'm going to be leaving soon."

Mox was about to tell him not to worry, then he realized that this was either a wonderful coincidence or a gift from God. He couldn't get out of the house, here was Faulk offering to pick him up things. "Actually, do you mind? I wanna make the kids a halfway decent dinner and my mom is telling me I need a few things."

"That wouldn't be a bother at all," Faulk said. "I'll have to pass at least two Kroger's on my way to your place, so I can easily stop and get food."

So, Mox, Jen, and Faulk played some weird game of literal telephone, where Jen told Mox something and Mox repeated it to Faulk. Fortunately, there weren't too many items on the list. When the information transference was done, Mox made Faulk repeat the items to him. When Faulk got it perfect, Mox said goodbye and hung up with him, then went back to Jen.

"Are you okay, Mox?" she asked.

"I'm better than I was when I called you," Mox admitted. "But I miss all of you, _so_ much."

"We miss you too," Jen said.

There was an awkward moment of silence, where it seemed like both of them had so much they wanted to say, but were afraid to say it. Finally Mox gulped. "I should get going… make sure the kids haven't killed each other or something. I am supposed to be watching them."

"Oh, of course!" Jen said, and her voice sounded bright. "Please, let me know how the adapted mac and cheese turns out."

"I will," Mox said, then before he could chicken out, he blurted, "I love you, Mom!"

"I love you too, Jon," Jen's voice was soft. "We all do. And we all miss you."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

"That was Mox, wasn't it?"

Jen turned from hanging up her phone to see both Lance and Roman, looking at her with their arms crossed. It was Lance who had spoken. "Yes, it was," she said. "He's babysitting for his little brother and sister and he wanted to make them something nice for dinner."

"Why wouldn't you let us talk to him?" Lance asked, his voice rising up and ending on a whiny note. "Didn't he want to talk to us?"

"He couldn't talk for long," Jen explained. "He had to get back to his brother and sister."

"But _we're_ his brothers too!"

Roman, who had been silent up until that point, put his arm on Lance's shoulder, and squeezed, gently.

"Yes, and he misses you, but he was in the middle of babysitting," Jen explained. "He can't just talk to you when he's supposed to be watching his brother and sister. Besides, he emails and texts us almost every day."

"It's not the same," Roman finally spoke and his voice was soft. "I even miss the way he'd get nightmares and wake us both up."

Jen knew about the nightmares. Jon didn't have them often, but when they did, it took him awhile to calm down and fall back asleep. Roman said that if he woke up, he and Mox would talk for a bit. At first Mox told him things about his past, not specific things, but things vaguely spoken about, giving Roman just enough information to know his past was really, really, bad. But, as Mox started feeling more safe and secure with the family, they talked about other things. Roman would talk about football, while Mox would talk about wrestling. And in that way of brothers, they could talk about these different things together and with each other and it worked out.

"I want him to come home, Mom," Lance said. "Do you think he will?"

"I want him to come home too," Jen confessed. She knew she should add what she and Sefa had been saying all along, 'but we want what's best for him.' And she did still want what was best for him, she just wanted what was best for Jon to be them.


	14. Chapter 14

Thank you to everyone who reached out, be it by review, or private message to ask about how I was doing, and to offer well wishes. My doctor thinks I am doing great, especially considering how awful it started out. And, she gave me the all clear to go on Vacation next week (with my cat!) so, right now, I'm happy and hope I continue on this road. And thank you again, knowing people were hoping I'd be fine gave me warm fuzzies!

* * *

.

 **Chapter** **Fourteen**

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

It was less than an hour after Mox hung up the phone, when there was a ring of the doorbell. He had been in the family room, telling the twins that someone was coming over to bring things so he could make dinner.

"You know how to _cook?"_ Amber eyed him suspiciously.

"Well, not, not really," Mox admitted. "But Mo- I mean, Jen, the woman _I_ call Mom, she gave me instructions. And Faulk, a guy who goes to the same gym I work at, is bringing over the things I'll need to make it. I'm going to ask if he wants to join us, and if he says yes, be nice to him, okay?"

The twins looked at each other, then at him. "We're _always_ nice," Amber said.

Mox tried not to fix her with a baleful stare, but wasn't quite sure if he succeeded or not. "Well then, be _extra_ nice to him," he finally said. "Otherwise, you'd be eating canned soup and toast tonight."

"That doesn't sound bad," Zach said, shrugging.

As Mox was about to tell Zach that his taste buds sucked, he heard the doorbell. "He's here, be _nice_ ," he warned them one last time and he headed for the front door.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Faulk was carrying four of those reusable bags when Mox opened the door, which seemed like an awful lot of bags for what Mox had asked him to bring. Mox took two of them from him. "Do you think you brought enough?" he commented, only half joking, leading Faulk into the kitchen.

"I figured you needed a little more for dinner than straight Mac & Cheese," Faulk explained. "So, I picked up some stuff to make salad and all with and a few other things." They put the bags on the kitchen island."

"I _still_ say this looks like an awful lot of food," Mox commented. "You'd _better_ be staying for dinner."

"I don't want to be a bother," Faulk said. "Family time and all."

Mox snorted. "They're just my half brother and sister, and they're kinda pains in the ass," he said. "And they aren't really at their best, because they're worried about their dad, so, yeah, please stay."

"Well, sure, then," Faulk said. "As long as I'm not being a bother."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

While Mox had helped Jen a few times in the kitchen, he had never been the one officially in charge of cooking, so he was more than a little nervous. He had written down Jen's instructions carefully, then rewrote them while waiting for Faulk to arrive, so they were more legible. He showed them to Faulk, a little nervously. "Do these look right?"

Faulk glanced over at them. "Yeah, they look good to me. Let's get started."

Donna and Jacob might not have cooked much, but at least for cooking supplies, like pots and pans, they had a fully stocked kitchen. Mox found a large enough sized pot, put some water in it and put it on the stove top to boil. While that was going, Faulk unpacked a package of bacon. "What's that for?" Mox asked.

"We're going to fry it up, cut it up, and put it in with the mac and cheese," Faulk said, grinning. "Because bacon makes it better."

"It does?" Mox asked.

"Uh-huh," Faulk nodded. "Wait until you try it, you'll never want to eat mac and cheese without it again."

"I'll take your word for it."

As the two of them moved around the kitchen, Mox had the feeling Faulk was far more used to cooking than Mox was. He seemed comfortable and familiar with everything. But, he never tried to point out that he was the more experienced of the two. Instead of saying things like, "And now you have to do this," he would say, "Hey, you think we should do this?" Mox was surprised, but in a good way, because not only was Faulk more experienced, he was also older than Mox. He wasn't sure of his exact age, so he finally asked him.

"Twenty," Faulk said. "Still too young to drink, alas."

"Nah, you're too young to _buy,"_ Mox said. "But if it's there, you can drink it. Trust me."

"Wow, am I talking to the resident party boy?" Faulk's expression was one of mock awe.

"I was," Mox admitted. Of course Mox had never been a party animal, that was Timmy, but that would be a hard one to explain and Mox didn't want to explain it. Let Faulk think that he was a massive partier when he was younger, it wasn't exactly a lie. Most people did not consider themselves two or three different people, like a stack of phoenixes, each rising from the ashes of the last. Dean Ambrose, to Timmy, to Jon Moxley.

" _Were?"_ Faulk tipped his head to one side. He had a pan of rolls that came from a tube, and he was putting them in the oven to cook. "Are we talking a tragedy here? Are you one of those teenage alcoholic and drug users? You know, the ones they write moves about or tell kids about as a stern warning? 'Nine years old and he's in AA with your daddy!'" Faulk said the last part in a stern finger wagging "Mother" tone of voice.

Mox shrugged. "I've never had to have treatment, but I did do a lot of stuff. I stopped when I started living with the Reigns and got serious about wrestling."

Faulk nodded and for a minute, looked as if he had a lot of questions he wanted to ask Mox, then shook his head. "Mox, I really don't know much about your past," he admitted. "Les and Cody even admit that there seems to be some strange stuff in your background. Like why your name is Jon Moxley and your mom's name is Ambrose and you were living with the Reigns family and working at SPWA." Mox winced realizing that his past did sound like a confused, complicated plot to probably a bad movie. "But," Faulk continued. "I just figure that's your business. Someday, maybe you'll tell me about it, maybe you won't." Faulk shrugged as if either were no big deal.

"I'm not ready to talk about it," Mox admitted softly. "The Reigns know about some of it. So does Donna and her husband. But I just don't like to talk about it."

"That's fine," Faulk said. "It's your life, and I'm your friend no matter what your past is about." He put the rolls into the oven.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Eventually, curiosity got the best of Amber and Zach and they came into the kitchen to see what was going on. Mox introduced him to Faulk, who told them they could help make the salad. Mox expected them to balk, but instead they were agreeable and soon Faulk had them shredding up lettuce and carefully using a peeler to make carrot shavings.

"Holy crap, how did you get them to do _anything?"_ Mox asked, when Faulk was over by him and not so close that the kids could hear. Mox was testing the macaroni and Faulk was melting butter and garlic in a small saucepan. He kept his voice low.

"I'm a stranger, so I automatically get seen as cool."

Mox frowned. "I thought kids are supposed to be afraid of strangers."

Faulk shook his head. "I'm a stranger their older brother brought over. So I'm a safe enough stranger and they want to impress me."

"They never seemed worried about impressing me, and I was a stranger until the beginning of May." Mox shook his head. "Well, not exactly a stranger, I was the older brother they knew was missing, but they never met me."

"That's an entirely different story," Faulk said, grinning, "You were the _special_ one. The older child they never met. The one that they probably only heard good things about. What a terrific baby you were, what an awesome toddler. Up until the moment you were no longer around, your mother probably thinks she had to sponge bathe you, because if she tried to give you a regular bath, you'd float above the water like Jesus."

"Yeah, right," Mox said, snorting as he stirred the water with the pasta in it. It was almost done, but not quite

"Think about it," Faulk said. "I'm drawing conclusions here, but I'd wager your mom didn't know you were alive, until recently, right?"

Mox nodded, trying not to look grim. "Don't pin that on the Reigns's though," he said, "I didn't tell them." _Because I didn't know,_ he added, but only in his thoughts.

"I'm not, but I'm saying that your mother probably was pretty sure you were dead." Using a potholder, Faulk lifted his pan of garlic and melted butter, and started pouring it gently on the pan of rolls he'd taken out of the oven a few minutes earlier. "Well, maybe not, but either way, you weren't around to defend yourself, so it would be mean to talk about the bad things you did. So, probably all they heard was how awesome you are. Now here you come, back from the beyond. They've been told you were perfect. You're older, you are a threat to their place in the family. How do you compete with the perfect brother who's older than you? In the hierarchy of siblings, you just ruined everything. They're twins. Yeah, I'm sure whoever came out first-"

"Zach," Mox interrupted. "Zach came first." Mox had been told this, by Zach, about two seconds after Donna introduced them.

Ouch," Faulk shook his head in sympathy as he put the freshly baked rolls, now coated with garlic butter back into the oven. "So, you completely overtook Zach's status. Now he's not the oldest, and he's no longer the only son. You just pulled the rug out from under him. And yeah, Amber still has the only girl and baby of the family status, but she's still now has perfect older brother she feels she has to live up to. They're just lucky you aren't in their school getting straight A's so the teachers could say, 'I remember your brother Mox, he was _such_ a good student.'"

"Oh great," Mox muttered, testing the pasta again. "I'm making dinner for two kids that hate me." He grabbed two potholders and lifted the pot of boiling water to bring it to the sink.

"They don't hate you," Faulk explained, "They just need to get used to you and realize that you're not perfect, but you're a good guy. That maybe there are advantages to having an older brother."

"Like what?" Mox started to drain the pasta into the colander in the sink.

"Like they're having a wonderful home cooked meal." Faulk said.

"They've got you to thank just as much as me," Mox reminded him.

"So, they can thank the both of us," Faulk shrugged. "You deserve the biggest credit, you're the one that called your other mom and got the recipe. You're the one who was determined to not just settle for ordering pizza."

Mox shrugged as the steam rose, instantly making his face look as if he'd been hanging out in the sauna. "I dunno, it just seemed like… they needed something, you know?" He bit his lip, putting the pan on the granite counter top and then began shaking the colander to drain as much water as he could. "The people I lived with before the Reigns… they didn't cook much either. I think one guy, Dennis, cooked a turkey once in awhile." He figured this was safe enough information to give you. Donna didn't like to cook, and didn't do it too much, so it wasn't like eating take out food all the time made you a bad person or anything. "But mostly, it was take out food. Jen, my mom in Florida? She cooks. Like really cooks, almost every meal. She cooks things up ahead so it can be heated later, things like soup or stew. And sometimes her food just makes you feel better. I think they call it comfort food."

"Yeah, I've heard the expression," Faulk said, with a slight grin.

"Well, I just think that tonight, these kids need a little comfort food."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

The recipe and instructions Jen gave Mox for doctoring boxed macaroni and cheese, turned out to be better than he could have hoped for. It was simple enough, adding sour cream, butter and shredded cheddar cheese. As Mox stirred it up in the pot, getting all the ingredients to mix together, Faulk slowly began adding the cut up cooked bits of bacon, and Mox stirred those in as well. "It smells good with the bacon," Mox commented.

"Oh, wait until you taste it," Faulk said.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Both Mox and Faulk showed the kids how to set the "table," which was actually the kitchen island. Mox knew that at holidays, when you ate in the dining room, there were fancy, exact ways to set a table, but for this casual meal, they just taught them how to fold the napkins in half and do the "Forks on the left" trick. Mox was a little surprised they didn't already know how to do this, but remembered, most of the times it was take out food, and most of the time, it came with utensils. "Did your mom or dad cook a lot?" he asked Faulk.

Faulk shrugged. "My dad was a professor a TMU, and he often got home early and cooked if he could. He saw cooking as relaxing, and liked to make elaborate dishes, the more complicated the better. My mom? If she couldn't make it in a crock pot, she didn't want to be bothered. She liked to go to the Supermarket and buy those rotisserie chickens and the easy heat side dishes."

They served up dinner, Macaroni and cheese, biscuits with garlic butter baked into them, and a salad with Italian dressing, made with oil, vinegar and one of those packets that held all the spices. Mox hesitated, waiting to see what the kids would think, praying they wouldn't start whining how they'd rather have Chinese food delivered. Amber was first to take a big bite of her macaroni and cheese, which she chewed and swallowed, nodding. "This is really good!" she exclaimed, and dug her fork in for more.

Mox let out a long sigh, not even realizing he'd been holding his breath. Faulk grinned at him. When Zach tasted his and agreed with his sister, Faulk raised his hand to Mox and grinned. Mox grinned back and the two of them high fived each other.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Faulk had also brought two of those rolls of dough you could spread out and cut to make cookies and after dinner, while Mox worked on cleaning up the kitchen, he got Amber and Zach involved in cutting up the roll to put on the cookie trays and bake.

"Are you sure you don't need me to help with the kitchen?" Faulk asked as he put the oven on preheat.

"Nope, I'm fine," Mox said. "Cleaning the kitchen is one of the major chores I did at the Reigns house."

"Okay, then I'll keep the kids amused."

Mox cleaned the kitchen carefully, packing up the leftover mac and cheese into a plastic container. There was enough so if Donna and Jacob could make a dinner out of it. The garlic rolls were gone and so was the salad. But they had made an awful lot of mac and cheese.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

After dinner was made, cookies were baked and eaten, Mox let the kids stay up later. He told Faulk he could leave, but Faulk shrugged and said he had nothing else to do, and he might as well stay.

They watched a couple more kids movies, Mox warning Faulk that they seemed to have an endless supply of Disney DVDs. But, after the second one was over, and it was way past the kid's bedtime, Mox insisted they had to go to bed.

"We won't be able to sleep!" Zach said, "We're worried about Daddy."

"Yeah," Amber agreed.

Mox wasn't too surprised. Yes, the meal and making cookies and watching movies had worked as a distraction, but until Jacob and Donna came home, the kids were going to worry. He was worried himself, and Jacob wasn't his father. "Okay," Mox said, thinking carefully. "Look, Donna expects me to get you into bed," he said. "And I want to do that. But I get it, you don't want to sleep until you know your dad is okay. So, you guys put your pajamas on, and get into bed. You can read if you want, or watch TV even, I don't care, as long as you're in bed."

"We don't _have_ TV's in our room," Amber said, pouting.

There actually was a TV in Mox's room, although he never watched it. And a TV in Donna and Jacob's room. He thought at first he could put one in one room and the other in the other room, but that wouldn't work when Jacob and Donna came home. He hesitated, not knowing if this was a good thing to be suggesting or not. "Well, there is a TV in my room," he said, slowly. And a double bed…" his voice trailed off, and he looked over at Faulk as if he might have the answer to this. Was it okay to let two kids, six going on seven, sleep in the same bed? Or, more likely, watch TV in the same bed? Faulk look completely neutral, which Mox took to mean it probably didn't matter. "How about you guys put on your pajamas and you can watch the TV in my room. You just have to watch one of the kid channels." He was pretty sure there were parental locks on the TV. He knew there were only certain channels the kids could access from the TV in the family room.

Zach and Amber looked at each other, then back at him and nodded.

As they ran upstairs to brush their teeth and put on their pajamas, Mox looked at Faulk. "Is it okay to do this?" he asked, just to make sure. "Let them share the same bed and all?"

Faulk stared at him. "They're six, and it's just for tonight. What's the problem?"

"Nothing," Mox said. He remembered Amber's announcement the first day he was here, about seeing her brother's "willy" and how casual she was. How he was sure she had no clue what sex was, that as far as Amber was concerned, those bits between the legs were only meant for peeing. _When do kids start learning about sex? And even if they did know about it, would they consider it gross and disgusting like I did?_

"Are you okay?" Faulk was looking concerned.

"I'm fine," Mox mumbled. "I just wasn't sure if it's okay to let brothers and sisters sleep in the same bed. I mean, Roman and I shared a room, but we didn't share a bed. But, sometimes when he had a bad dream, Lance would come in and sleep with Roman. Or, he'd get Roman to come to his room because Lance had a bigger bed."

"Yeah, those were special circumstances," Faulk said. "Not an everyday thing. You know, like kids who are worried about their father, because he's at the hospital?"

Mox's grin was sheepish. "I guess you're right," he said.

"Dude, you really need to relax," was Faulk's suggestion.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Even though Zach and Amber were determined to stay up until their parents came home, when Mox went to check on them about midnight, both of them were sleeping soundly. He turned off the TV. He knew Zach had a nightlight in his room, so he left the door open and turned on the hall light, figuring that would put as much light in the room as his nightlight.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Even though Faulk offered to stay until Donna and Jacob came home, and even though part of Mox wanted him to stay, Mox insisted he leave. "You've got a house show to do tomorrow," Mox reminded him. "You need to get some sleep."

"You're going to have to work too," Faulk reminded him.

"Yeah, I get to run the concession stand." Mox rolled his eyes. "I need _so_ much energy to sell popcorn and sodapop."

"I'm going to talk to Cody and Lex," Faulk said, as the two of them walked towards the front door. "I think you and I should put on a match, at least once. We're not going to make the TV show, but I think we could both put on a pretty good house match."

Mox smiled. "That sounds pretty good," he admitted.

When Mox opened the door, Faulk hesitated, then put his hand on Mox's shoulder. "It's going to be okay, you'll see. Jacob will be fine."

Mox looked at the hand, swallowing only once, then turned back to Faulk. _This is normal,_ he told himself, _People do this type of stuff and they don't mean it. I think Faulk is your friend._ "I hope so," he said. "Thanks for bringing over that stuff and helping me with dinner, I really do appreciate it."

"Hey, what are friends for?" Faulk took his hand off Mox's shoulder after giving it a brief squeeze and walked out the door. Mox watched as he got into his car and drove off.


	15. Chapter 15

**Please Read:** I was really hoping I'd never have to do this again, but this is Willow's Husband, posting another chapter for her. She was on vacation last week, as most of you know, and for the most part, she had a really good time. Then, last night, her last night of vacation, she started feeling worse and worse. Afraid to be too far away from her doctors, she drove home.

By the time she came home, the area around one of her incisions from the appendectomy was soaking wet and oozing. She tried to be casual, but she had bought one of those large packages of washcloths from Walmart to help for this, one of those packs of like twelve or fifteen? Well, she soaked all of them.

So, she's back in the hospital. They are doing a culture on the infection and giving her IV antibiotics. When they get the culture done, that will tell them if she just needs a few more days of IV antibiotics, or if they have to do surgery because something is leaking into her intestines. I hope everyone reading this agrees with me that we'd rather see the first one.

I believe with all my heart she will be fine, but she's feeling pretty down about all of this. No matter how often I tell her that these things happen, she's convinced that she did something wrong, even though she followed all her post surgical instructions to the letter.

I know when she reads this, she'll be upset that I told all of you what was going on, but I know a lot of her readers are people she talks to, people she considers friends. And the way I see it? You don't keep your friends in the dark when you're sick. When you're sick, you don't act like yourself, and your friends can see that. You don't have to weep on their shoulders, but they should at least know what is going on with you. And that's what's going on with her. This stupid surgery, something that people have done almost every day, has been twisting around and finding a way to bite her on the ass.

Let's hope this is the last of it. Let's hope we figure out what's wrong. And I don't want her to have to have more surgery, but if that's what it takes to fix her and she can go back to her old self? Then let's just do it. I just want to see her healthy and happy again.

* * *

.

 **Chapter Fi** **fteen**

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

"That will be seven fifty," Mox said as he scooped up the ten dollar bill the man had put on the counter. He turned around to the ancient cash register that really didn't do much more than open and shut, put the ten in and pulled out two crumpled dollar bills and two quarters, which he handed to the man. "Thank you."

When the man left, the concession stand was empty of customers and Mox leaned up on the counter, forcing himself to stay awake. He had drank three glasses of Mountain Dew earlier, but that wasn't working anymore.

Donna and Jacob had come home at two in the morning, the ER having decided that Jacob's concussion was able to be monitored at home. He'd held down food and liquid and his eyes were dilating as normal. As he had wondered earlier, part of Mox had wanted to ask Donna if Jacob could have come home earlier seeing she was a nurse, but he thought that would be a rude question. _All it will do is make her feel bad._

They were both hungry, Donna especially, having only eaten a chocolate bar since breakfast. Mox heated up the leftover macaroni and cheese for them. Maybe it wasn't a great breakfast, but it was better than nothing. Both of them had exclaimed over it, and Mox ended up telling them the story of calling Jen and then having Faulk call him, and come over with the stuff they needed to make it, along with other stuff too. "The twins ate two helpings of mac and cheese and a lot of salad," Mox said, then added, "And two garlic rolls each."

Donna and Jacob both seemed impressed. Donna told him he was welcome to make dinner any time he wanted, which Mox found oddly satisfying. Not that he wanted to cook all the time, but it was pretty cool that his birth mother would have turned over her kitchen to him, if he had wanted to do the cooking for the family.

"Moxy!" A voice called out, taking him out of his thoughts. Mox looked up to see Faulk heading towards him. He was still in his wrestling gear, he'd probably just finished his match. But,he was wearing a HWA T-shirt, as was Mox.

"Yo Faulk!" Mox called back, grinning as Faulk walked up to the counter. "You want a soda or something?" _He called me Moxy, the putz. He's lucky I'm too darned tired to be offended._

"Nah," Faulk shook his head. "I'm just wondering, how long you're going to be here?"

"I'm not allowed to close the stand until the main event starts," Mox explained. "Normally, I'd stick around and clean the locker rooms, but I asked Les if I could come in tomorrow and do them, and since I cleaned the heck out of them before the show, he said that was fine. But if you want to go home, I can call Donna, she said she would pick me up." Donna had refused to let him ride his bike to work, afraid that the lack of sleep would cause him to get into an accident, if not on the way there, then on the way home, when he'd have to ride in the dark. She really hated that he biked in the dark, even if he did have lights and reflectors on his bike and wore a reflective vest. Mox had said he would accept a ride, knowing it was no good to argue. Then, as Donna was getting ready to take him, Faulk texted him and said that he was going in early, so why didn't he just pick up Mox? He could drive him home, too. Mox had agreed. Better to show up with another wrestler than having his _mothe_ r drive him. Even if he didn't consider Donna to be his mother like he did Jen, everyone else thought of her as his Mom, they looked too much alike.

When he told Donna, he had a ride, she seemed relieved. "It seems like you and this.. Faulk person are becoming friends," she observed.

Mox thought about it, and nodded. "I-I guess we are." Mox realized that Faulk might be the first purely friend he ever had, Roman, Lance, and Marc were friends, but they were his brothers, too, which meant that they were sort-of obligated to like him, even if they didn't at the time. Faulk didn't have to like him or hang out with him at all. Yet Faulk seemed to want to be with him. He had a feeling that Seth Rollins, the kid who got run over by a Reindeer and would be coming to the summer session, if not already a friend, was well on his way to becoming one. _Maybe I'm not as broken as I thought I was_.

"Nah, I'll stay with you," Faulk said, interrupting his thoughts.. "I don't mind. I'll even help you clean up so we can get out of here quicker."

"Are you sure?" Mox asked. "I mean, you _pay_ to be here, with the gym fees. I'm _paid_ to be here."

"Sure," Faulk said with a shrug. "I'm too low on the pole to get any part of the take, I'm purely house show. Maybe if I help you out, Les and Cody will see that I'm serious."

"They don't think you're serious?"

"They'd probably believe it more if I wasn't in college," Faulk shrugged and walked around the stand, so he could go behind the counter and stand next to Mox. Both of them leaned on the candy case.

"You aren't the only wrestler here who goes to college," Mox pointed out, "Why would they have a problem with you over that?"

"I dunno," Faulk shrugged. "Maybe because I'm majoring in English my father is an English professor, and my _legal_ name is Faulkner."

"It is?" Mox was vaguely aware that he sounded a bit like an idiot, but he blamed it on the lack of sleep,

Faulk nodded. "And I'm keeping it as my ring name. Because, even though I was named after him, and my name isn't common, I happen to _like_ William Faulkner and I like that my parents named me after him."

Mox was about to ask him why he thought Les and Cody would think it was bad for Faulk to be majoring in English, but was interrupted by a girl who seemed to be around his age, coming up to the counter.

She had long, straight hair, most of it blonde, but there was a large streak of purple on one side. She was wearing a black T-shirt that looked about two sizes too small, straining across her breasts, making them look even larger than they were. It also hardly came down past her breasts. She wore this with a pair of very short denim shorts that rode low on her hips. She smelled like cigarettes and Juicy Fruit gum. Her legs were bare and she wore sandals with thin straps.. Her fingernails and toenails were painted the same shade of purple as the streak in her hair.

Mox knew she walked up to the both of them, but he was so tired, his mind wasn't registering her. Faulk looked at the girl, then at Mox. When Mox kept staring at the candy, Faulk smiled at the girl. "Can I help you?"

"No," she shook her head. "I want him to help me." She pointed at Mox.

When Mox didn't look up, Faulk elbowed him in the ribs. "Mox, customer!"

Mox shook his head, snapping back to reality. "Oh, sorry," he said. He stood up and looked at Ms. Blond and purple hair. "What can I get you?"

The girl studied the board with the prices. "I'd like a medium popcorn," she said, then smiled. "Does it have butter?"

"I can put butter on it," Mox said, going over to the glass case where the popcorn was kept and using the scoop to fill one of the medium sized boxes.

"Oh yeah, put a _lot_ of butter on it," the girl said, smiling at Mox. "Is the popcorn salty?"

"I guess," Mox put the box of popcorn under the butter dispenser and began pressing on it, covering the popcorn with the oily goo that passed for butter. Mox didn't like the butter. It came in a semi solid state, and it was a brilliant yellow color, like the yellow of a lemon gumdrop. He had to put it into the dispenser which heated it into liquid that looked almost like lemon scented dishwashing soap rather than melted butter. He figured butter was merely a polite name for it. It didn't even _smell_ like butter to him, it smelled as if it was seconds away from going bad.

"Oh good, I like _salty_ things," The girl said.

Faulk turned so the girl couldn't see his face, but Mox could. His eyes were wide and he looked ready to burst into laughter. Mox didn't see what was so funny. He put the popcorn on the counter in front of the girl. "Anything else?"

"Uhm…" the girl studied the menu again, as she took some popcorn from the container and ate it. "Oooh, yes, it _is_ salty. Mmm." She licked her fingers, which were faintly shiny from the greasy "butter." "I _love_ salty things."

 _I heard you the first time, Ms. Obvious._ "Too much salt can dehydrate you," Mox said, because concession stand sales were the money makers for HWA. "Better get a soda or something. We've got Mountain Dew." He had her pegged for a Mountain Dew girl, he wasn't sure why.

The girl had her finger in her mouth and was running it over the tops of her bottom teeth, her tongue licking at the tip of it. "I'm used to… _salty_ things."

Faulk bent down as if looking for something under the candy case and Mox knew he was trying not to laugh. Mox had picked up on what the girl was doing, and normally he would have tried to help her as quickly as he could and get her out of there, but the lack of sleep and the hard work he'd done earlier in the day had caught up with him and he just didn't care. "Salty things can dry you out," he said, his voice flat. Two could play the game of saying the same things to each other.

"Not for me." The girl ate a few more pieces of popcorn, then licked her fingers slowly, suggestively. Mox wondered if she knew how stupid she looked. "I never get... _dry."_

"You should try those Egyptian cotton towels then," Mox said, his voice bland, as if he had no clue what she was implying. "I hear they're _really_ absorbent."

The girl was back to running her finger along her teeth and tongue. "I don't mind being… a little _wet."_

Mox tried not to gag. What _was_ it with people and sex? He knew most folks hadn't gone through what he had and thus, thought of it as something a lot more fun than he did, but _seriously_ , this wasn't the first girl to come to the concession stand and do everything but say at the top of her lungs, "Please fuck me!" Was _everyone_ a sex driven animal? And even worse, Faulk was leaning over, pretending to be looking for stuff to restock the candy under the counter, but in reality trying not to laugh out loud. "Then you don't want a soda?" he asked.

"I didn't say that," the girl said. "Let me think…"

 _Oh, if only we had a soda called jizz cola_ , Mox thought. _She'd probably have herself an orgasm ordering it_. He looked at her, waiting for her choice.

When she finally settled on a large Mountain Dew, he gave her the price. She seemed to be startled that he expected her to pay for it, but she paid him. Before she handed him the twenty, she scribbled something on it using a pen from her purse. "That's my phone number," she said.

"Oh," Mox said, biting his tongue to keep from suggesting she write, 'For A Good Time Call' above it. He walked over, put the bill in the cash register, letting her see him do it, and got out her change, handing it to her. "Enjoy the show."

She walked away from the stand looking less happy than she had when she first came over. when she was out of sight, Faulk stood up. "Oh wow," he said, laughing out loud now. " _Somebody_ wanted you."

Mox shrugged. "Yeah, I sorta picked up on that." He tried not to scowl.

"Dude, she wasn't _that_ bad," Faulk said. "I mean, I wouldn't bring her home to meet your mom if I were you, but I don't think she's looking for that, either. You should take down her number. Maybe go out with her, it could be fun."

Mox felt his face flush and knew it was turning red. He knew he was strange, knew he was abnormal, that most boys his age would have replaced that twenty with one of their own, just to have that number. But it wasn't his fault. He looked at sex as if it were cake. Everyone loved cake, right? Or at least most of the world did. But what if you were forced to eat cake all the time when you were a kid? Sometimes several times a day? And even if you were full from cake, they kept feeding you more and more cake and you couldn't say no. If you did, it would be forced down your throat. And 99% of the time, the cake was made with rotten eggs, mealy flour and rancid butter. It made you sick, but you had to keep eating that cake. And you were totally convinced that cake was a horrible, horrible thing. Then one day, someone tells you that nope, cake is delicious. Cake is sweet and satisfying. Cake can make a good meal even better, because cake is just _that_ wonderful.

Mox's life was rotten cake made with rotten ingredients. He knew there was better cake, he was told about it, he heard people bragging about how delicious cake was, or about how great the cakes they made were. A normal person of his age should _love_ cake. Should _want_ cake. But he _wasn't_ normal. He'd had too much cake and almost all of it was bad cake. So, maybe he was a freak, but he just didn't want cake and he was pretty sure he would _never_ want cake. He didn't want to go to a bakery, or have people show him cake. He didn't want to meet a great baker of cakes either. If he could have, he would have banished cake. Cake had made him so sick before, why would he want cake?

But again, _everyone_ loved cake. To the point where there seemed to be something freakishly wrong with him for not loving it. And even worse, if it really was cake and not sex, he could have claimed to be allergic to one of the ingredients. "I'm sorry, I'm allergic to flour. No cake for me." There were times when girls were flirting with him and he was half tempted to blurt out, "I have hepatitis B!" It was a lie, he had been checked when he lived at the Reigns and thankfully, considering the life he'd lead, he was free of STD's. But sometimes it seemed as life would be easier if he did have some incurable STD.

Faulk was looking at him, expecting an answer as to why he didn't want to meet up with Ms. Purple Hair Streak and have cake. Not that it was any of his business, but Mox got it. Sex was something talked about all the time in the locker room, bragged about all the time. He'd never heard Faulk bragging about it, but that was probably because Faulk didn't have anyone he was sharing cake with in his life at that moment. "I'm just not into her, you know," he finally mumbled. "She doesn't do it for me."

Faulk nodded, looking at him for a long time. "I understand," he said.

Mox had the feeling he didn't understand at all. That no one did.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Monday and Tuesday Mox still rode his bike to work, but on Fridays and Saturdays, Faulk started picking him up and driving him home. Mox didn't mind, he knew it made Donna feel better that Mox wasn't riding his bike home in the late dark. And, Faulk was nice enough to stay and help him clean up the concession stand and even clean out the locker room after the wrestlers had left.

While they talked in the car, they also started getting together in the evenings. Not Monday, that was RAW night and it was somewhat of a routine for Mox to watch it with Donna on the TV in the master bedroom while Jacob and the twins watched their sitcoms in the living room. But other evenings, Faulk would text or call him and ask him if he wanted to "hang out." Both of them agreed they weren't really into the party scene, and they were too young to go to bars. A couple times they went to movies, but most of the time they went to a place called Java Joes. It was a coffee shop for the most part, near the college Faulk attended. The cool thing about the place was that nobody seemed to care how long you hung out. The official rule was one free refill on your coffee, and then you had to pay again, but if it was quiet, they often gave you that third cup or more for free. The place sold coffee, some fancy coffee drinks, and pastry, that was about it.

The first couple times they talked about wrestling. All the wrestling they watched as kids, why they wanted to be wrestlers, what they thought of some of the wrestlers at HWA. Mox didn't want to tell Faulk about his background, the kidnapping, so on and so forth, so he kept things a little vague. He didn't tell Faulk that wrestling was about the only thing he had to enjoy in his life for years. That it was one of the few regular things that Dennis had allowed him to watch, He just told Faulk about watching it. He tried to talk more about his training with Sefa or what he was learning at HWA. And Faulk, to his credit, did not try to probe, but seemed to understand without it being spelled out, that Mox's past was really bad in some way, and it wasn't a topic for discussion.

Eventually, they branched out to talking about other things. The two of them ended up getting into a rather lively discussion about _Catcher In The Rye_ one night. To Mox's surprise, Faulk _liked_ Holden. At first he and Faulk both tried to be polite about it, but soon enough, they were arguing their points a little more aggressively, which attracted the attention of other people in the place, who felt they had to weigh in. Pretty soon most of the coffee shop was involved in a rambunctious discussion and debate about Holden and the book itself. And while Mox didn't find himself changing his opinion on Holden, he did find it interesting that some of the things that annoyed him about Holden, endeared him to others. Such as, Holden talking about how he hated phony people, while being one of the phoniest people himself. That irritated Mox to no end, but other people thought that was one of the things that made him interesting, that he really didn't have any clue that he was exactly what he hated in others.

But, as they were heading home, Mox started to worry. Faulk had been pretty passionate about his liking Holden, at least as passionate as Mox was about disliking him. Would Faulk think less of him now? They'd exchanged insults over each other's tastes, that seemed as if they were joking at the time, but maybe they weren't.

"Is there a reason why you're so quiet?" Faulk finally asked him, after most of the trip had been silent.

Mox hesitated, wondering how he should put this, then just blurted it out, "Are we cool?"

Faulk took his eyes off the road for a brief second and looked at Mox with a surprised expression. "Yeah, we're cool, why wouldn't we be?"

"I dunno," Mox said, shrugging, his fingers going up to his collarbone. "We kinda argued hard back there. It's pretty clear we are never going to agree about Holden."

"Probably," Faulk agreed. "But who cares?"

 _Dennis and Simon sure would have_ , crossed into Mox's mind, unwelcome as such reminders often were. Dennis and Simon expected him to always do what he was told, believe what they told him to believe, like what they told him to like. "Well, I know Donna's husband is pretty passionate about _Catcher In The Rye_. He and Donna agree not to discuss it because she agrees with me, that Holden isn't as awesome as some people think. At least she and I don't think so."

"And it's not like you're alone," Faulk said. "Several folks at Java Joe's were on your side."

"Several were on yours, too."

"Yeah, it was _fun_ , wasn't it?" Faulk said. "By the way, how is Jacob doing?"

"He's pretty good," Mox said, "He's going to Physical Therapy for his sprained back, but they're pretty sure he's going to make a complete recovery. His worst problem is that if he drives longer than ten minutes or so, his back starts to ache, but he isn't taking any painkillers but Tylenol right now. And what did you mean by that was fun? Arguing is _fun?"_

"Did you enjoy it?" Faulk countered. "You sure looked like you were."

Mox paused, then shrugged. "I-I guess I did," he admitted. "It was kinda fun calling out Holden, even if he is a _fictional_ pretentious dick."

"Despite all the off color language," Faulk said, "You made some really good points. Have you ever considered going to college? I know you dropped out of school, but maybe you could get your GED and apply at the University of Cincinnati. You'd be a couple years behind me, but that's okay. We can still wrestle for HWA. I think you'd do well in college."

Mox felt his face grow red, not quite sure how to handle Faulk's praise. "I wanna be a wrestler," he said.

"So do I."

"Yeah, but I don't want to waste four of my best physical years to go to college. I'd rather spend them building myself into a solid wrestler, get some Indy cred." They were turning on the street Donna and Jacob live on, and Mox was almost grateful.

He didn't know why he wasn't being completely honest with Faulk. Faulk assumed he was going to keep living with Donna and Jacob, at least most of the time. Mox was beginning to think that Donna and Jacob and the twins were beginning to wonder if that was going to happen too. That he would stay on and try to make a life in Cincinnati. And, when he just thought about his day to day time here, that idea didn't seem _all_ that bad. Sure, the twins could be a little bratty, but since the night he'd babysat them, the three of them seemed to be getting along better. And, even though Jacob didn't like wrestling, the two of them were starting to find things to talk about. He had a friend now, Faulkner, aka, Faulk, who he had fun with. Would it _really_ be so bad to think about making a life here?

Then he would remember the Reigns house. Sefa, Jen, Roman, Lance, and Marc. And working with Gimpy and the other employees. And a piercing feeling of homesickness would overtake him and all he wanted was to go _home_. Go to the Reigns, who were his family, not by blood, but by choice.

He still texted with them, he still emailed them. But it wasn't the same. He felt conflicted. He liked his little room upstairs with the Millers, but he missed the room he shared with Roman. Missed the times when the two of them couldn't sleep and would talk half the night away, so both of them were tired the next day and trying not to let Jen see that they were hitting the coffee harder than she liked. He missed the times when Jen's mom came to visit and Lance would stay in their room and the three of them would be crowded into that one room, and the room would seem small and they'd be constantly bumping into each other, but there was also a feeling of closeness about it, as if the three of them had their own little world where they could shut out everyone but them. He missed family meals and working around the camp. Sure, he worked for HWA, but SPWA was different. It was a family business and everyone helped out. It was right outside the door, wrestling rings and overnight cabins, the gym, the arena, the running track. Wrestling was around them all the time, as natural as the air. They discussed it, sure, but even when they didn't, it was still there.

He must have been looking upset, because when Faulk pulled up to the house, he put his hand on Mox's shoulder. "Are _you_ all right? Really? Because I really am cool about the on-the-fly debate we had tonight. It was fun, and kind of cool that people just jumped in and joined us."

"Okay," Mox said, his eyes flitting to the hand on his shoulder, then back at Faulk. Let him think that it was still the discussion of Holden that had him so quiet. "Glad it's all cool. I'll see you tomorrow?" It was Thursday night.

"You know it, buddy, bright and early." Faulk gave Mox's shoulder a quick squeeze then put his hands back on his steering wheel as Mox undid his seat belt and got out of the car.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes:** Hey, guess what? It's actually me posting this chapter, not my husband. I'm doing better. I still have to get antibiotic shots, but I'm not in the hospital and I think once we get the infection behind me, I'm going to be okay.

Thank you to everyone who wished me well. I really do appreciate it.

* * *

.

 **Chapter Sixteen**

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Riding his bike into the driveway Monday evening, Mox saw Amber and Zach sitting on the steps to the house, and Amber was sobbing. Zach had his arm around her, trying to comfort her and she had her face buried into his t-shirt, muffled sobs, punctuated with louder sobs when she would move her face to the side to take a deep breath, taking in more air so she could continue sobbing. Zach didn't seem to be saying much, he was just trying to comfort her and looking more than a bit uncomfortable.

Mox pulled his bike up along the tiny asphalt path that lead from the stairs to the driveway, and stopped at the front of the stairs. "What's wrong?" he asked, half expecting to see Amber hold out a bloody stump instead of her arm, the way she was crying. But he knew Donna, Jacob, or likely both were home, so if she was physically hurt, wouldn't she be inside getting it attended to?

Amber didn't answer, just sobbed louder. Zach looked at Mox with an expression that was equal parts sympathetic, and exasperated. "Her bike is wrecked," he said.

"An' Daddy had a rough day at physical therapy!" Amber had turned her head to the side to talk, and Mox could see she had really snotted up poor Zach's t-shirt. "An' Mommy says I can't _bother_ him about it, because he's taking a _nap!"_

"How did her bike get messed up?" Mox asked, looking Amber over carefully. He thought she might have taken a spill, but there weren't signs of injury on Amber, no band-aids or scraped knees.

"Scott _Walker!"_ Amber exclaimed, which seemed to bring about a fresh round of sobbing and she again, buried her face in Zach's shirt, adding to the snot collection.

Scott Walker was a year older than Mox and lived up at the end of the street with his parents. Mox had met him once, when he first arrived here. Mox had been outside, sitting with his laptop, trying to get some studying done, when this kid with long, greasy, brown hair pulled up along the side of the yard, driving a sporty looking, throaty sounding car that Mox would later learn was a 1985 Chevrolet Camaro IROC-Z, and probably the only thing in Scott's life that he loved. If he wasn't driving it around, he was tinkering with it in his family's driveway. It always looked freshly washed, waxed and polished, which was more than you could say for the car's owner. "Hey, kid," Scott called out, cigarette dangling from his lips, jerking up and down as he talked, "I've never seen you around here."

"I'm staying with the Millers for a bit," Mox said, jerking his thumb towards the house, just in case this kid didn't know who his neighbors were.

Scott revved the engine a couple times, and Mox later realized he was probably trying to impress him with the car. Mox knew a little bit about cars, but he'd never taken Auto shop classes and the Reigns family's criteria for cars seemed to be, "Does it run? Can we keep it running?" The family had an SUV that was older than dirt, but both Sefa and Marc knew it well enough that they could make most of the repairs. So, Mox had no idea he was supposed to be impressed and therefore, just sat there.

Scott's first act of neighborly kindness was to ask him if he wanted to buy some weed. Mox might have grown up fairly ignorant of things, living mostly in basements, but even he knew that asking a stranger if they wanted to buy drugs wasn't very bright. "Nah," he said, "weed doesn't do anything for me." He wasn't lying, Timmy had smoked enough weed to know it didn't do for him what it seemed to do for others. Dennis had _loved_ weed. Timmy didn't like that, because weed made Dennis want sex and made him take longer to finish off, so maybe Mox was a little biased, because even the smell of weed made him feel slightly nauseous.

"What _does_ do it for you?" Scott asked, blowing smoke out of his nose. "I've got good connections."

"I can't take anything," Mox explained, "I work for HWA. They're training me too, and If they decide to pop a piss test on me, I'd lose my job, and lose the training.."

Of course Scott hadn't known what HWA was and when Mox explained it, Scott sneered and said that he had loved wrestling, back when he was a little kid, but realized it was fake and stupid when he was seven. When Mox just shrugged and said nothing, he asked if Mox was one of those gaming geeks and pointed to his laptop. Mox had told him that he wasn't, and was Scott one of those people that needed to tear others down in order to feel good about himself? Scott had ended up revving his engine a few more times, then drove off, tossing a spurt of gravel and sand from the road, onto the lawn. Mox had ignored him ever since, and Scott returned the favor.

But Zach and Amber told him that Scott's family house was in the cul-de-sac and when he was working on his car and the kids were riding their bikes on the circle, he'd call them names. Zach was "nerd boy" because of his glasses. Amber was "lesbo," which she did not understand, but knew it was insulting the way it was said. Mox knew what it meant and when she asked him, he told her it was something she'd understand when she was older, and just because Scott thought it was an insult, it really wasn't. Amber's best friend Britney was "Bino" which Mox realized was short for "Albino" because Britney had pale skin and blonde hair. All the kids in the neighborhood were nicknamed by Scott, and he meant them all as insults.

Mox was glad he didn't have to interact with Scott on a regular basis, because Scott reminded him of some of the guys Dennis and Simon had brought over to "play" with Timmy. Mox couldn't tell if he was the type to molest kids, but he _was_ the bullying type of guy who got his jollies picking on anyone smaller and weaker. When Amber and Zach had filled him in on Scott, Mox made them promise they would never go anywhere alone with him. They had been shocked and assured him they had no plans to ever go anywhere with Mr. Walker, but Mox made them double pinkie swear that no matter what he offered, even if it was to take them for ice cream, or told them he'd take them to see an honest-to-god unicorn, they would not go, and they would tell Mox that he had asked them.

"How did Scott Walker hurt your bike?" Mox asked, nostrils flaring.

"Runned it over!" Amber wailed, yet again, burying her face into Zach's shirt to give him another coating of snot.

"Amber saw a kitten in the Brown's yard," Zach explained. "That little brown and gold one we think is a stray, and it won't let anyone near it." When Mox nodded, having remembered the two of them mentioning the kitten, Zach continued. "She got off her bike and let it fall on the lawn between the Walker and the Brown house. Scott came tearing up the street, saw her bike, and rode over it."

"And now it's _ruined!"_ Amber sobbed, or at least Mox was pretty sure that was what she was saying, it was hard to tell with her face all buried in her brother's shoulder.

Mox looked at Zach. "Did Scott _have_ to run over her bike to get into the driveway? Be honest with me."

Zach shook his head. "It was between two yards. He had to drive over the bike and then drive on the grass to get to the driveway."

Mox nodded, scowling. He'd gotten off the bike by now, resting it on its kickstand and put his helmet on the handlebars. Now he took off his backpack, opened it up and pulled out a HWA t-shirt he had brought home to wash. "Here," he said, handing it to Amber. "It's a little ripe, but not too bad. Avoid the armpit area and use it instead of getting your brothers shirt all snotty." He pulled out a hand towel and handed it to Zach. "You can use this to mop up some of the snot." Amber blew her nose in the front of the shirt loudly, and started mopping up her tears. Zachary carefully wiped away as much of the mucus as he could and then looked at Mox. "Uh, I should take this inside and not make you touch it, right?"

Mox shrugged. "I don't mind, we're sorta family after all." But he still took the towel by one corner, and folded it upon the side Zach had used to wipe his shirt and put it into his backpack. Amber continued to use his t-shirt as a hankerchief. "When you're less weepy, let me see your bike."

She took a huge sniff and looked at him. "Do you think you could fix it?" she asked. "Britney's family is going to go to the biking trails tomorrow, and they said I can go, but I can't if I don't have a _bike!"_ She said the last word in a wail that hinted she might start sobbing again.

"I'll take a look at it," Mox said. He'd learned some basic skills with tools from Sefa and Marc. And, he'd figured out how to fix the chain on his bike when it slipped off once. He wasn't sure he could fix a bike that had been run over by a car, but he was at least willing to look at it.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

The bike wasn't as bad as Mox thought it would be. The front wheel was bent, but it looked like Scott had only hit the wheel, not the frame, and since the bike had been resting on the grass, not the asphalt, the rest of the bike seemed okay. _Bastard probably only hit the wheel because he didn't want to risk his precious car_ , Mox thought sourly. The tire seemed mangled and Mox was sure the tube was too, but all of that was replaceable.

Amber sat near him as he inspected the bike. They were in the backyard, on the patio. She no longer was using his shirt as a snot-rag, which Mox was grateful for, because it had allowed him to start a load of laundry and put that in it. When the kids had come inside so they could open the garage door, Donna had waylaid them, and insisted they eat dinner, which was one of those premade lasagna things that came frozen and you heated it in the oven or in a microwave. Mox never said anything, but after eating Jen's homemade lasagna, made with homemade sauce, which was made with homegrown tomatoes, the stuff in a box was pretty miserable. Amber wasn't even willing to pretend to eat, she just kept wailing about her bike.

"If Mox can't fix it, you can borrow my bike tomorrow," Zach said.

Mox thought that pretty nice of him, but Amber shook her head, calling Zach's bike "stupid." Except for the colors and the fact that Jacob had a boys bike and Amber had a girls bike, Mox didn't see the difference, but he didn't say anything, least Amber start out on another bout of crying.

Finally, Donna realized it was a waste of time to get them to eat and admitted defeat. Jacob was still asleep, which might have helped explain why she gave up so easily, because it was pretty much three against one. The moment she said that they could be excused from the table, Amber practically dragged Mox out to her bike. Zach volunteered to stay inside and help his mother with the dishes, which Mox thought was a very polite way of letting his sister know he was getting a little tired of her crying.

"C-can you fix it?" Amber asked, lower lip trembling.

"I don't think this wheel can be fixed," Mox began but when he saw her eyes start to get that glassy look of unshed tears, he hastily added, "But I think if we get a new wheel, tire, and tube, we can replace it, and that will make it better."

"C-can we d-do that?" Amber asked, a hint of hope coming to her voice, even as her lower lip still trembled a bit and her eyes were still overly shiny.

"Yeah, I think we can," Mox said.

"Can we do it _tonight?_ So I can go with Britney and her family tomorrow?"

"Well," Mox began, and her lower lip trembled again and the tears started spilling out of the corners of her eyes, so he hastily said, "We can try." As he said the words, he was trying to think of how he could do this. _I guess I'm going to miss most of RAW tonight._

He took his phone out of his back pocket and hit the speed dial for Faulk. There was a bike shop in the city, and he could probably ride his bike there and get what he needed, but that would take longer. He had the feeling Amber was not going to sleep until she knew that she would be able to ride her bike tomorrow.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Amber Miller was in absolute awe as she watched Mox. She had been excited when she first heard that he was coming to live with them, but when he arrived, he wasn't nearly as great as she thought he would be. He didn't want her coming into his room, he seemed to be gone most of the time, and even when they went out and did family stuff, he didn't really hang with them, he stayed off to the side. She found it easier to think of him as her _half_ brother then, someone who she only felt was partially family.

Then, when her Daddy got hurt, she saw Mox was better than she thought he was. He played games, he even made dinner, macaroni and cheese and it was a lot better than when Mommy made it, straight from the box. He did things to it, that made it taste so much better. And his friend Faulk was there,and Faulk seemed nice. After that, she was a little nicer to him, and she started thinking of him more as her brother, and less as her half brother.

Now, as she watched him and Faulk fixing her bike, he went from brother to Big Brother. Capitol B's on both words. He took charge, just as well as her Daddy would have, maybe even a tiny bit better. He got the old wheel off the bike and then Faulk showed up and the two of them went off to the bicycle shop. Amber had been afraid then, that something would go wrong, the store wouldn't have the wheel or the tire or the tube, or _something_ would go wrong. But they were home in less than an hour, with a new wheel that already had the tube and tire on it. The tire was extra black and almost shiny, tiny threads of rubber sticking out of it. She remembered those from when her bike was new, and knew they would wear off quickly. But she thought that new wheel was one of the prettiest things she'd ever seen.

They put the new wheel on, and had her ride it The bike had a wobble now, so they took it off and did things and had her try it again, and again. Her Daddy had converted the bike from coaster to hand brakes, so they had to do some adjusting on those. But they kept going until the wobble was gone and the bike rode just as good as it had before it was run over. It was getting very close to dark when Mox had her ride up to the end of the street, go around the circle, and come back. As she passed the Walker house, she saw Scott outside working on his stupid car. Unable to resist, she stuck her tongue out at him, showing him that her bike was fine, now, that he hadn't ruined it.

That didn't see to make Scott happy, and he called out to her, "Don't stick out your tongue at me, you Lesbo bitch!" And then he gave her "the bird." She wasn't sure what Lesbo meant, but she knew 'bitch' was a very bad word and giving someone the bird was a _really_ bad thing to do with your hands. It was the gesture equivalent of using the "F" word. She didn't care. She was actually glad that her bike being okay had Scott all upset. And she told Mox as much when she got home.

"Scott's out working on his car?" Mox asked, after she told him.

Amber nodded. "Yeah, I _said_ that. How could he have given me 'the bird' and called me a Lesbo B word if he wasn't outside? An' when he's outside, all he does is work on that stupid car."

Mox nodded. "Okay, I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Faulk asked, looking concerned.

"Stay here with Amber," Mox said, instead of answering. "I'll take care of this, and it's better if I do it alone." Without waiting for them to respond, he started storming up the street.

Faulk looked at her. "Is there a place we can see into Scott's yard without him seeing us?"

Amber nodded. "There's a tree on the neighbor's property we can hide behind. It's dark enough he'll never see us, but we can see him through the branches."

"Lead the way."

So, they hurried up the street, and hid behind the tree in the Brown's yard. Mox had just gone up to Scott, who had his head under the hood. Mox sneaked up on him and none too gently, tapped him on the shoulder.

Scott whirled around and saw Mox. From where she and Faulk stood, Amber couldn't see Mox's expression, but it must not have been very nice, because Scott looked almost scared for a moment, then scowled. "What do _you_ want?"

They could hear everything being said, because Mox and Scott were not trying to keep their voices low and the night was calm. Mox pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. "You owe me seventy nine dollars and sixty eight cents."

"For what?" Even though it was starting to get dark, there was enough light to see that Scott was sneering.

"That's what it cost to buy the shit to fix my sister's bike," Mox said. "I'm not even going to charge you for the gas to get to the store or the time we spent fixing it. But you _are_ going to pay for the parts and the cost I paid to have the store mount the tire and tube to the rim."

"Fuck you," Scott said. "It's not _my_ fault your sister's bike got trashed."

"Bull," Mox said. "Zach and Amber both told me that you deliberately drove over the grass to ride over the bike."

"Prove it." Scott taunted.

"I don't have to prove it," Mox said. "I trust them, they wouldn't lie. And I know that you've been terrorizing the kids on the street, shouting out names. Like calling my little brother Nerd boy, and calling my sister Lesbo."

"Your sister _is_ a Lesbo," Scott said, sneering. He fumbled for his cigarettes and lighter which were in the front pocket of his T-shirt as he spoke, and lit one up. "She's got the body of a fucking bull dyke."

Amber might have asked Faulk right then what a bull dyke was, but she saw Mox move so fast she completely forgot about it. First, he reached up and jerked the cigarette out of Scott's mouth and flicked it onto the street. Before he could protest, Mox grabbed Scott by the shoulder, twisted him around and grabbed his neck with his left hand. He grabbed Scott's right arm with his right hand, and brought it to Scott's back, and Amber could tell it was painful. He then pushed Scott's head down onto the engine of the car, and he pushed it hard, because Scott's face, which was looking towards the tree, was all squishy. "What my baby sister is or isn't is none of your fucking business," Mox growled. "And Britney isn't an albino, and you seem _way_ too fascinated with children. Are you a fucking pedo, Scott? Would you like it if every time I saw you, I yelled out, 'Hey Pedo, what are you doing? Watching the kids riding their bikes, you fucking pedo?' Would you like that, Scott? _Would you?"_ He pushed harder on the hand around Scott's neck, really mashing his face into the engine of the car, and tugged Scott's arm even further up his back, which Amber could just tell was hurting him really badly.

Scott tried to protest, tried to say something, but Mox had his face so smooshed into the car engine that all Scott could do was make illegible gurgling noises. His voice sounded wet and snotty.

Just as fast as Mox had gotten Scott into this humiliating position, he moved his arm so he could raise his arm even higher up his back, so he could use one hand to keep Scott where he was. Mox used his newly freed hand to pull Scott's wallet out of his pocket. Using Scott's back, he managed to open the wallet and extract the money inside. "A hundred dollars, eh? Not bad." He pulled out some bills. "Since I don't have change, let's just call it eighty even. Close enough, right?"

"Fuck you!" Scott gasped, still unable to move, but able to talk because his face wasn't quite as smashed into the engine. "You can't do this."

"Why not?" Mox taunted, putting the money into his pocket and letting the wallet fall to the ground. "What are you gonna _do_ about it, tough guy? Call the cops? Tell your parents? Go ahead, because I will be more than happy to let them know that you tried to sell me weed and when I said I didn't like weed, you offered to find me something I _would_ like. Okay, maybe I have no real evidence to back it up, but I think my just _telling_ them, would make it so the police pay a _lot_ of attention to you, Scott. Are you willing to risk it? I mean, Amber and Zach's uncle is a detective, I think that might make the police take me a little more serious than you. What do you think, Scott?"

Amber knew that Mox was terrifying Scott and while she didn't like seeing people suffer, there was something wonderfully gratifying about this, getting to see Scott as the one who was miserable. Scott didn't just call the kids names or run over bikes, he was also known to grab young girls by the hair. He had done that to her once, and yanked on it so hard that tears came to her eyes. None of the kids on the street could prove it, but they all just knew that he put grease or oil on the roads deliberately so kid's bikes would skid and they would fall. All the kids in the neighborhood complained, but his parents never seemed to do anything about it, and eventually people, even her own parents, just told her to stay away from him, which was a lot easier said than done.

But Mox didn't care. Mox wasn't being polite, or nice. Mox was willing to show Scott a taste of his own medicine and at that moment, Amber adored him. He had gone from being her Big Brother, to The Best Big Brother in the World.

When Mox finally let go, Scott straightened up, whirled around,and took a swing at Mox, who leaped backwards and leaned over, scooping up Scott's wallet in his hand. "Uh-uh," Mox said, shaking his head. "You know how you said wrestling is fake and how you don't like to watch it and how stupid it is? Well, it might be scripted, and it might be that we aren't really trying to hurt each other, but trust me, wrestlers know how to make it hurt when we want to. And if I ever hear about you calling these kids names, or destroying their bikes, or even just giving them funny looks, I will find you. And I will _hurt_ you. I will make what I did today look like a massage. Understand?"

Scott mumbled something, and while Amber couldn't hear what it was, it satisfied Mox because he nodded. Then he took Scott's wallet and threw it as hard as he could so it landed in the tall grass in the Walker's backyard. Unlike her daddy and most of the people on this street, the Walkers let the grass get really tall before they mowed, especially in the back. It was dark enough now, that Scott would have to get a flashlight and probably look for quite awhile before he could find it, or he'd have to let it sit out there all night. And if that wasn't enough, Mox reached into the window of the car, the driver's side as Scott was looking in the direction his wallet had flown. When Mox removed his hand from the inside of the car, he held something else that glittered in the rapidly approaching moonlight. The keys to the car.

"Don't!" Scott cried out, in a voice that really sounded pained. "Please!"

Mox stepped back. Scott took a step towards him, and for a moment, Amber thought Mox and Scott were going to fight, but Mox took another step back, raised his arm and flung the car keys as far as he could and being heavier, they sailed a lot further than the wallet had.

"Oh _fuck!"_ Scott cried, as he turned and ran into the backyard to find his keys.

Mox turned away from Scott and his car and started heading off. When he got as close as he could to the Brown's tree without leaving the street, he paused. "Are you two gonna stay under that tree all night?" he called out.

Amber and Faulk walked out from behind the tree. Amber walked up to Mox, feeling like she was walking up to someone she had known for awhile, but was meeting for the first time. Mox had transformed in her eyes, beyond half-brother, Big Brother, even Best Big Brother in the Whole Wide World. He'd taken on almost a demi-god status to her. _Some day, the kids will ask why Scott doesn't pick on us anymore, and I'll be able to say it's because of Mox, it's because of_ _ **my**_ _brother._

Unable to contain herself, she threw her arms around Mox, hugging him as tight as she could. She felt him stiffen, then he relaxed and hugged her back. His hug was a little bit awkward, but maybe that was because he wasn't sure if she was _worthy_ of hugging him.

"I-I love you," she whispered.

He smiled, looking only mildly uncomfortable, and ruffled her hair, normally something she absolutely hated, but at that moment, thought it was awesome. "You're not so bad yourself, kiddo."

Amber wanted to do something to show Mox how much she appreciated what he had done. Fixing her bike, taking care of Scott, even for the night he made dinner. But there weren't words that would do it. This went way beyond words. But, there had to be something she could do to let him know how grateful she was, she just needed to find out what it was.


	17. Chapter 17

**Authors Notes:** Sorry this chapter was posted so late. I'd go into the reasons, but with the way my life has been going, you'd probably think I was just making stuff up. I can say that pretty confidently, because I know if someone had been dealing with every health issue I have as long as I have, and they were telling me about it, I'd really suspect they were making stuff up. But, I will say that I never was in the hospital this time (great news) and I'm doing a lot better than I was Thursday and I hope this is the end of the era of Willow's Health Sucks.

So, again, sorry this was late and I hope all who celebrated had a good memorial day. I remember my father a lot during this holiday, because he was in the tail end of WWII and when people used to tell him that they thought it was rude that folks "Celebrated" memorial day by having cookouts and family gatherings, his opinion was, "Why? That's what we fought for. For America to be able to continue to have cookouts and family times. I can't think of any better way to honor the men and women who died for this country, than to draw your friends and family near, throw some food on the BBQ, turn on the sprinkler for the kids, and have a great day."

So, if you spent memorial day in quiet reflection, attended a ceremony, mourned those you might have personally lost, or had a cookout, I hope it gave you what you needed, be it peace of mind or a relaxing, good time.

* * *

.

 **Chapter Seventeen**

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

By Thursday afternoon, Mox realized that his status had risen significantly in his sister's eyes. He would have realized it sooner, but Tuesday, he had worked a hard day, and trained even harder. By the time he got home, all he wanted to do was crawl into bed. He'd eaten dinner barely noticing what he was putting into his mouth, never mind that Amber was looking at him with hearts in her eyes. Wednesday afternoon, after his talk therapy appointment, as he and Donna were sitting in the diner together, for "their" time, Donna pointed it out.

"Amber thinks the world of you for fixing her bike," she said, stirring cream into her coffee.

Mox shrugged. "It wasn't that big of a deal," he mumbled, as he took a sip of his soda. "Jacob could have done the same thing if he hadn't been sleeping." He paused and looked at Donna, "I'm not saying it was wrong for Jacob to be sleeping, it wasn't, I know he's had trouble sleeping since the accident. I'm saying that I didn't do anything special to fix Amber's bike. That I did nothing Jacob couldn't have done. So I don't know why she thinks I did anything special."

Mox was pretty sure he was lying, that he knew _exactly_ why Amber was so thrilled with him, and it had more to do with Scott than with her bike. But he was curious to see if Amber had told her mother. He hadn't asked her not to, but he hoped she wouldn't. While Mox hadn't thought he'd done anything wrong, he wasn't sure if Donna and Jacob would feel the same way, or if they would think Mox shouldn't have confronted Scott. But it seemed that Scott and Mox were in the clear, although he wondered what Amber had told her mother to explain how her wheel had been ruined.

"Well, for some reason, _you_ fixing her bike impressed her more than her father fixing her bike," Donna said. "And I wish you'd let us reimburse you for the wheel."

 _She hasn't told_ Mox thought, with some relief, although he wished Donna hadn't brought up the wheel again. "No, it's okay," he said, for what felt the millionth time. "Think of it as all the birthdays and Christmases I missed. If I miss a couple more years, I'll probably end up having to get Jacob a pony to make it all up to him."

Donna laughed as he hoped she would. "I don't think Jacob wants a pony," she said. "Amber would probably like that more."

"Well, I'll have to get him something big," Mox said.

"The other side of that is that we've got a lot of Birthdays and Christmases to make up with you," Donna said.

Mox shrugged, starting to feel like that was all he was doing this afternoon, shrugging and trying to pass everything off. "You can buy me a Porsche."

Donna stopped with her coffee cup half way to her lips and looked at him, brows raised.

"One of those little ones," Mox went on to explain with a grin. "Like Zach has."

Donna laughed again. "You think one Hot Wheel car will make up for all those Birthdays and Christmases we missed?"

Mox pretended to think about it. "You're right, I'm gonna need a Ferrari too. And a Corvette. Maybe even some of that plastic track to race them on."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Thursday, when the whole family went to The Newport Aquarium, Mox noticed that Amber stuck near him and every time he looked towards her, she seemed to be looking at him with an expression of wonderment. It was amusing at first, but then it got a little tiring. Scott was a jerk, yes, and he got what was coming to him, but weren't younger kids supposed to have a short attention span? Shouldn't Amber be over this by now? Apparently not, because the whole time they were at the aquarium, she was looking at him on and off, always with sparkles in her eyes.

By the time they got home, Mox realized he badly needed some alone time. He casually mentioned he had to answer some emails, needed some privacy to do that, and hoped it would work

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Mox was working on an email to Roman, when his AIM window dinged, telling him someone was online. He looked, expecting it to be Lance, he was the one that was online the most, but was surprised to find it was Roman. He decided to AIM him instead of finishing the email.

 _ **Yo, Bro!**_

 _Mox! How's it going?_

 _ **Okay, I guess. I was writing an email to you**_ _._

 _Well, here I am, saving you the bother. What do you mean by "okay, I guess?"_

 _ **Amber is being weird**_ **.**

 _She's a six-year-old girl, sounds about right._

 _ **Like you've spent a lot of time with six year old girls?**_

 _I do have friends with younger sisters. :-|_

Well, Mox knew that was true. Roman had a lot of friends. But, when you were good looking, played football, and had your coach constantly telling everyone you were the best thing the team ever saw, it had a tendency to make you popular. It also had a tendency to make some folks hate your guts, but that seemed to be the thing with Roman, if you liked him, you _really_ liked him. If you didn't like him, you loathed him. When it came to Roman Reigns, neutral was a word rarely used. Mox was in the first camp. Roman was his brother, he loved him. He didn't see him as perfect, they shared a room, but Mox loved Roman.

 _What is she doing that's so weird?_ Roman IMed before Mox could comment on his last message. Mox thought for a moment, trying to find a way to tell the story of what happened quickly.

 _ **There was a guy on the street that ran over her bike. I fixed the bike then told the guy to leave my sister and all the other kids alone. And, I did it pretty forcefully. I didn't hurt him, but I made it clear that if he didn't stop picking on the kids on the street, I'd make him pay.**_

 _Sounds like the guy is a bully._

 _ **He's an asshole. He calls all the kids mean names. He calls my sister Lesbo, and Zach, Nerd boy. He calls Amber's best friend, Bino, which is short for albino. Which she isn't. Not that it matters, if she was, but he makes it sound like being albino is a bad thing. She's got very pale skin and blonde hair. She probably goes through sunscreen like I do.**_

 _And this guy, he's been harassing the kids for awhile?_

 _ **Yeah. He's a couple years older than me. Has this stupid car he's always driving or messing with. So, he's always outside and always calling the kids names. I kinda forced him pay for the wheel to fix Amber's bike and told him not to call the kids names anymore. Now Amber is following me around and gazing at me like she's got a crush on me or something. Isn't that like, completely wrong? She's my sister!**_

There was a long pause that Mox used to open up his GED studies site and start looking over assignments he had to do. The site officially was a homeschooling site, but Mox was learning from it, enough to take his GED test. There were a couple sites Lance had found for him that had practice GED tests that Mox had bookmarked. Lance, though, was in favor of Mox finishing up the homeschooling and getting a real diploma. Mox wondered if that would work if he ended up staying here? Would he be able to graduate with a diploma that was supposed to be for a Madison County Florida school, even though he was living in Cincinnati? And if he lived here, would he have to go back to his birth name, Dean Ambrose? A shiver went up his spine and he looked over at the air conditioner in the window to see if it was on too high.

 _It's not that hard to understand. This guy has probably been bullying these kids for a long time, but nobody ever stood up to him until you came along._ Roman finally replied. _And I wouldn't worry that she's crushing on you. I don't think it's weird, there's nothing weird about it, she's too young to be thinking anything wrong. You're just her number one hero because you stopped this huge problem in her life and Zach's and her friend's life._

Mox was grateful Roman didn't ask what Mox meant by forcing him to pay for the wheel. Mox was pretty sure Roman wouldn't have gotten upset, but might have told him that his methods were a little harsh. Because, as much as Mox loved him, he knew Roman could be a buzzkill at times.

 _ **That makes me wonder too, why didn't the kids tell their parents? Shouldn't this guy have been told to stop ages ago?**_

 _I don't know. But you said the guy ran over Amber's bike? Did he have a reason for doing that? Had she been saying or doing anything to him?_

Mox couldn't be 100% sure, but he was 90% sure. From what he had seen, Amber and the other kids went out of their way to try to stay under Scott's radar.

 _ **He did it to be an asshole, no other reason. Amber is scared of him. I don't blame her. The guy makes me feel like someone is running an ice cube up my spine. I told Amber and Zach that if the guy ever tried to get them alone, to run away and tell me**_ **.**

 _Does this guy have a name? Typing 'this guy' all the time is tiring._

 _ **Scott**_ **.**

There was another pause, no doubt because Roman was typing a longer answer, and Mox looked over the homeschooling site, but realized he wasn't able to concentrate. Instead, he went back to his email and began responding to an email from MomJen. Emails to MomJen were hard, because he didn't know if he should tell her how much he missed her. He had the feeling she wanted him to miss her, but that she also wanted him to be happy with Donna and this other family too. It was much easier to write his Dad, all he had to do was talk about Heartland wrestling, what was going on there, and what he was learning. Mox decided, as he usually did, to talk about things he and Faulk did. MomJen seemed to like that he had a friend.

 _If Scott would run over Amber's bike wheel for no reason at all, don't you think the kids might be afraid of what he would do to them if he had a reason to be mad? Like their parents telling his parents that he's been calling them names and bullying them? I would be worried if I were Amber or Zach. If he'd wreak a bike wheel only for fun, he'd probably hurt Amber herself, if he thought she'd wronged him._

As Mox read the words, a picture began to slither into his mind, as if someone had forcefully grabbed his head and poured it into his ear canal and now it was dripping into his brain. In it, he saw Amber, lying on a bed, wrists zip tied to the headboard, legs tied by rope to the footboard. It was an extra long double bed, made up with one king sized pillow to give it the illusion of being a twin. The comforter was decorated with different types of cartoon dinosaurs. Mox _knew_ that bedspread. Knew it way too well, as a matter of fact. And Amber had a gag over her mouth. Someone was looming over her, and Mox could see it was Scott, and even though he didn't want to see this, he did. And, nobody was pouring it into him, his own mind was putting it there. And he had no way to banish it. Then the point of view changed and he saw her from above, saw her eyes, wide with terror as Scott loomed over him, then he realized that it wasn't Scott anymore, or if it was Scott, he was seeing through Scott's eyes, experiencing everything Scott did. He was now looking down at her, tied up and helpless. And he wanted to scream and yell, do anything to banish this picture from his head, but he knew if he yelled it would get the entire family to come running, including Amber, who was the last person he wanted to see.

He had no clue how long he was lost in this waking nightmare, but it was longer than a few minutes because in front of this horrible, terrible, "daymare" playing in his head, he saw the AIM screen, scrolling as Roman texted to him.

 _Hey, are you okay? Is something going on?_ Then, later, _You're showing as still online, did you leave and forget to turn off your computer?_

He wanted to reply, but he was captive to this. He needed to do something, _anything_ to break this vision, to clear it from his mind. Barely aware he was doing it, Mox opened the desk drawer and took out a letter opener that had been in the drawer when he arrived. He pulled it out, raised it above his head and brought it down, into his thigh.

The pain was fierce and hard, a combination of a bruising and a slicing that earned the name "Stabbing." It made sense, he _had_ stabbed himself. It did the job he wanted it to do, it banished the vision, but now he was left with another problem, he'd _stabbed himself in the fucking leg_.

Before he could think, he pulled the letter opener out of his thigh. Blood began bubbling to the surface, staining his jeans, but it wasn't spurting everywhere. This wasn't the first time Mox had experienced a stab wound, although it was the first time he'd experienced one done by his own hands. The blood was flowing but certainly not spurting, made him confident he'd missed stabbing an artery, which was good. But not spurting did not mean not bleeding, he was doing a fair bit of that and his jeans now had a hole in them and a good sized red stain.

An odd sort-of calm took over him and he raised himself off the chair, just enough to pull down his jeans and take a look at what he'd done. The wound was deep, but not as deep as it could have been, over half of the blade had been on the outside of his leg, not the inside. He figured his brain must have taken over as he stabbed himself, and that whole self preservation thing kicked in instead. Even with his jeans off, the blood was rising and oozing from the wound, freer now, but it wasn't spurting,

He looked at the AIM screen, and noted that Roman had signed off, but he'd left a message:

 _I guess you ran off, bro. I hope everything is okay. I have to go, but I'll be on later tonight maybe. At least email me and let me know you're okay when you see this. Yeah, call me a sap, but I worry about you._

Mox stared at the screen for a moment, thinking, _You're not the only one bro. I'm worried about me. Have I lost my mind?_ He had his hand over the wound, applying pressure to try and staunch the bleeding, but he knew he needed to do more than that, he had to get into the bathroom and try to clean it and bandage it. It might even need stitches. Sam/Simon had given him stitches many times in his early childhood, and Mox was pretty sure he could do it to himself if he had to, but he'd need the right supplies, a sharp sewing needle and some thick, white, thread. It had to be white, or else it would become infected. Simon had told him that, too.

His mind was wandering and that wasn't good. Mox shook his head, forcing himself to stay in the present. Rising from his desk, he stepped out of his jeans, that had fallen to his feet, and limped over to the dresser, keeping his hand firmly over the wound. Using one hand, he opened a drawer and rummaged around until he found an old, navy blue, Bret Hart T-shirt. It was the first shirt he'd put on, that first afternoon he woke up in the Reigns household and he hadn't really understood why he'd brought it with him, because it was really too small for him to wear it, but he'd packed it anyway. And now he wasn't sure if he was glad or angry that he had.

Trying to use both hands as little as possible, so he could keep one hand on the wound, Mox managed to rip a long strip off of the bottom of the shirt, which he used to tie off the wound. When that was done, he put on a pair of crimson sweatpants. _So far, so good_. As he was heading for the door, he saw his black, terry cloth robe hanging on a hook on the back of his door. He removed it from the hook and slipped it on. Then he opened the door as quietly as he could. He peered down the hall, noticing the door to Amber's room was open. With an inward groan, he headed down the hall, hoping Amber was downstairs with the rest of the family and not in her room. Drawing in a sharp breath, he straightened himself to his full height and walked past her door, not looking to see if she was inside or not, trying his hardest to look as if he was just heading for the bathroom as any normal person might do, not limping there, because he had a self inflicted stab wound in his leg.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Amber looked up as she heard Mox coming down the hall. She'd been lying on her bed, reading or maybe _pretending_ to read was a better way to put it, waiting and hoping Mox would come out of his room to use the bathroom before dinner, and he had. And he'd walked past her, not seeming to even see her, which was even better. He was wearing his robe, which meant he might even be going to take a shower, which would be the _best,_ because it would mean he wasn't going back to his room for awhile. But she couldn't be sure of that.

All day she had been thinking of what she could do to show how grateful she was to Mox for what he had done, fixing her bike and stopping Scott, but it wasn't until he'd shut himself in his room and Amber had gone to her own room, when the idea came to her. There was something she could do, something _wonderful,_ something _perfect._ Something she was _sure_ he would love. But it _had_ to be a surprise and she had to be able to get into his room without him knowing.

She listened carefully and heard the bathroom door click shut. Closing her book, she rolled off the bed and peaked out of her doorway and down the hall. The bathroom door was shut. She looked the other way and saw the door to Mox's room was open. She hoped Mox might be taking a shower, or at least doing something that might keep him in the bathroom for awhile, but she couldn't be sure. So, as fast as possible, she ran to his room.

She did what she needed to do and got out of his room as fast as possible. She did notice a pair of jeans in a messy heap on the floor, which was unusual for Mox. Like Zach, Mox was organized and rarely left things lying about. Normally, this might have caught her attention longer, but she didn't have time to waste. She did what she had to do, and left his room, returning to her own. She flopped on her bed and pulled out her book, trying to lay exactly as she had before so if Mox walked by again and looked in, he would think she hadn't moved.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Mox did the best he could to clean up the wound in the bathroom. He'd washed it out with water, then diluted rubbing alcohol and water and washed it again in that, which almost made him pass out from the pain and effort of making absolutely no noise at all. Mox rarely cried when he was physically injured, he'd learned at an early age that crying could make people angry and upset and that angry and upset people were dangerous people. But not crying wasn't the same as being silent. He had whimpered, moaned, yelped, or at least drew in deep, air cuttingly sharp breaths. But he couldn't risk that here and now. If someone heard him, they would ask him what was going on. And if he was moaning, god knows what they would think he was doing.

Mox was hoping he'd find gauze and adhesive tape in the bathroom, but the best he could find were normal sized band-aids, which were useless. He ended up folding some toilet paper to make a pad to put over the wound and wrapping the T-shirt bandage he'd made around it again. He was fortunate the sweatpants he was wearing were baggy enough that it made the knot he'd tied, harder to see.

When he was done, he wanted to go back to his room, crawl into bed, and hope the pain subsided and that he could just drift off to sleep. But that wouldn't work out, the family would wonder why he didn't want to eat, and that would lead to wondering if he was sick and in general,causing himself to get a lot of attention. Mox didn't want a lot of attention right now. He saw his jeans lying on the floor, and he kicked them under the bed. The wound was throbbing, but not as badly as it could have been, Mox hoped that was because he'd cleaned it up and bandaged it. Since the Hart T-shirt was already ruined, he tore it into more strips to wrap around his leg. the wound was still oozing a bit, so he tied two more strips around it, just to make sure that the wound wouldn't bleed through too much.

He sat down at his computer again, trying to do it normally, practicing in a sense. He thought he did a pretty good job of not giving anything away. He sighed in relief as he finished the email to MomJen. He had a chance to send that off, before Donna called upstairs to let him know dinner had just been delivered.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

"Mom?"

Jen looked up from the pot of soup she was making as Roman came into the room. "Dinner will be ready in a half hour or so, if that's what you were going to ask. We're having meatloaf. The soup needs a few hours to simmer, and I'm going to freeze most of it."

"That sounds great," Roman said, "But that's not what I wanted to talk about."

Jen looked back at the soup and stirred it again. It was turkey soup, with homemade egg noodles, one of Roman's favorite. "Okay," she said. "What _did_ you want to talk to me about?"

Roman looked at the kitchen table and then went over to the cupboards and began pulling out dishes. He was pretty sure it was Lance's turn to set the table, but since he was here and Lance wasn't, he thought he'd at least be useful. "Have you been hearing from Mox?"

Jen paused in her soup stirring and looked at Roman as he was pulling plates from the cupboards. "He and I send email almost every day. Why? Has he been avoiding you?" she looked puzzled. The last she knew Roman and Mox were in close contact, via AIM, and email.

"I was just talking to him on AIM," Roman said. "And he went radio silent on me. Just stopped talking completely."

Jen frowned, but shrugged too. "Maybe someone called him away from the computer?"

"Yeah, I thought of that too," Roman admitted, as he carried the plates over to the table and started placing them on the place mats. He realized that he'd grabbed a plate for Mox, a habit he couldn't seem to break. He looked over at his Mom. "Will Marc be here?" Marc had lately been eating at home more often, because miracle of miracles, Marc seemed to have a steady girlfriend, Noella.

"No," Jen said, and Roman could see the faint smile playing at her lips. Roman knew his mother honestly liked Noella and was hoping she might be _the_ one. Roman hoped so too, because he rather liked Noella, but had his doubts. Marc might be very popular with women, but in his opinion, Marc was a six or seven and Noella was a twelve. Yeah, girls didn't seem as hung up on looks as guys were, but you didn't see sixes and twelves getting married. He hoped that Marc and Noella would be the exception to the rule.

Roman picked up the plate he'd put at Marc's place and brought it and Mox's plate back to the cupboard. "It isn't like Mox to just run off though," he said, going back to his original subject, as he closed the cupboard door and opened up the silverware drawer. "He always says he has to go. Even if we're in the middle of a conversation and something comes up, he at least types 'GTG, later' or something like that."

Jen stepped back from the stove, almost stepping on Einstein, who was patiently sitting near the stove, no doubt hoping Jen would break down and feed him some turkey from the soup. Roman watched as the cat almost did a back flip to avoid having his paws stepped on. Jen didn't even seem to notice. "Maybe his battery died?"

"That could be, Roman admitted as he sorted through the cutlery to find the right amount of knives, forks, and spoons to put on the table. "But usually, AIM would show he'd gone offline. I didn't get a notice that he'd left the chat. He just stopped talking to me."

"Did you say something that might have gotten him upset?" His mother asked. Roman was grateful she didn't automatically assume Roman was being overly dramatic. Because they both knew, that if this was one of Roman's friends from school, Roman wouldn't have worried, but Mox was a different story. Mox was the lion cub who'd been stolen from the pride by evil hunters and forced to perform for a cold, cruel, world of hunters and predators. When he escaped, the Reigns Pride had taken him in, and did their best to surround and protect him. And they tried to do it without Mox realizing it. It was harder to protect him from a distance. They all wanted to believe that he was safe with the Miller pride, but they couldn't help but try to keep an eye on him, even at a distance.

"I might have," Roman admitted. "But it wasn't deliberate." He told his mother what Mox had told him, about Scott and what he'd done to Mox's half sister and how Mox had fixed the problem. "He was wondering why the kids hadn't told their parents about this, and I said that if this Scott guy would run over Amber's bike for no reason, that he might do a whole lot worse to her if he felt he had a real reason." He was holding the silverware in his hands, but made no move to bring it to the table. "That's when he just… disappeared."

Now Jen frowned. "We're probably worrying over nothing," she finally said. "But Jon _does_ have a cell phone, maybe you could give him a call?"

"That won't look weird, will it?" Roman asked. "Like I'm trying to check up on him?" Roman knew Mox didn't like being the injured cub, and had a tendency to get irritated when he thought he was being coddled.

Jen shook her head. "He vanished into thin air in the middle of a conversation, and you're his brother. Would you do the same thing if it was Marc or Lance?"

"Lance, yeah," Roman said, "Marc? I dunno, I might think someone distracted him, like Noella."

"Noella is distracting, I admit it," his mother said. "But all joking aside, if you're worried, call him. I know he's a little prickly when he thinks we're all overly cautious, but he _is_ your brother, you have the right to be worried and to make sure he's okay."

Roman nodded. "Can I do it before we eat?"

Jen nodded as she opened up the oven door to check the meatloaf. "Get your brother to finish up setting the table, it's supposed to be his turn."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Mox made it through dinner without the Millers catching on that something was wrong. His leg was throbbing, but he managed to keep the hurt to the inside and not let it show on the outside. It wasn't the most painful injury he'd ever suffered. He was glad though, that dinner had been earlier than usual, because it meant he could disappear to his room faster. He used the excuse that he really needed to at least review his schoolwork and mentioned he was tired. He was glad he was old enough that unlike Amber and Zach, no one tucked him in at night.

He also managed to get six Tylenol from the downstairs bathroom medicine cabinet too, before he went upstairs. He took two as he brushed his teeth, then put the four on his bedside table, two in case he woke up in the night in pain, two for the next morning. He thought briefly about turning on his computer and writing a quick email to Roman, but it just seemed like too much effort. He turned the AC up and crawled into bed, allowing himself to stop pretending everything was fine and let himself grimace at the pain.

That was when his cell phone, which was lying on the bedside table, attached to the charger, rang. He picked it up, noting it was coming from Roman. Sighing, he answered it. "Hey."

"Hey!" Roman sounded upbeat, but Mox could also sense he was concerned. _I should have written him an email, or left an AIM message telling him I'd gotten called away, but everything was fine. I should have realized he'd get worried and call me._ "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah" Mox said, once again, forcing him to pretend his leg was fine, that _everything_ was fine. "Sorry I blew you off in AIM, but one of those things, you know? I just got up because I heard something, and while I was checking that out, Donna called us to dinner. I totally spaced and again, I'm sorry." He crossed his fingers, almost subconsciously, then shook his head. Lance had told him that one, that there was a superstition that if you crossed your fingers when you lied, it was supposed to help ward off the harm the lie did. Mox thought it was so much bull, but he found himself doing it all the same.

"It's cool," Roman said. "And I'm sorry for worrying, but you are my brother and all."

"Foster brother," Mox mumbled without even thinking about it.

"I never really thought there was a difference."

Mox knew that, knew Roman and Lance and even Marc thought of him as much of a brother as they thought of each other. He was just the brother that arrived later and older. And most of the time, he felt the same way and was so grateful for the love the Reigns showered on him from the moment they had brought him home, but right now, he felt so stupid and guilty at the same time. Guilty for having that vision come out of nowhere into his head and stupid for having to stab himself to get it out. What type of person did that? Yeah, he had a crappy past, he knew it. His talk therapist was always telling him that he'd come up with "coping mechanisms" when he was living in the basement. Like trying to hide water by taking empty soda bottles when he was allowed upstairs, filling them with water and hiding them under his bed. Like hiding all the ketchup packets that came with the fast food Simon and Dennis brought into the house, saving them in case they left him downstairs for a long time. Other things too, things he didn't want to talk about. But this was getting ridiculous. He didn't live in the basement anymore, wasn't it time he just stopped being so weird? Why did it seem that life would be going great, and then suddenly, wham, his brain had to come along and fuck up everything?

For the first time since he'd handed the strip to his mother, Mox wished he had some of those anti anxiety pills. He'd love to just float off to that magical place where, at least for awhile, he didn't feel all knotted up inside, where he felt like everything had a pleasant, fluffy and soft covering around it, keeping it from hurting him. Taking him to the land of "I Really Don't Give A Fuck."

"Mox, are you there?"

Mox snapped back from his thoughts, realizing he was still on the phone with Roman. "Yeah, sorry dude, just thinking."

"About what? Your sister and that Scott guy?"

"No," Mox said, even though his sister and "that Scott guy" were a huge reason why he was in this mess of having stabbed himself in the first place. "I'm sorry, I'm failing all over the place today," he said, crossing his fingers. "We had family day today, and I'm exhausted. I might even be coming down with a cold, I'm not sure."

"Oh wow, summer cold, suck," Roman sympathized.

Mox mentally grabbed onto that cold excuse tightly and sniffed hard. "Yeah, been doing some coughing today, some sneezing, and my throat is a little sore."

"Yeah, that sounds like a cold. If you were here, Mom would be making you tea with honey and lemon." Roman really did sound concerned, which made Mox feel guilty.

"I'll be fine, but I do wanna get some sleep," Mox half lied. "I like talking to you, Dude, but I'm working tomorrow and I'm hoping a good night's sleep will shake off the cold before it really takes hold."

"I understand, I just wanted to check in with you, make sure everything was okay. Mom's got dinner almost ready anyway."

When Mox hung up, the room was cooler, good enough for sleeping. He wondered if he'd be able to sleep with his leg hurting, but the Tylenol seemed to kick in and the pain became tolerable. And, he really was exhausted.

As he drifted off into sleep, he found himself thinking, _all that time you lived in the basement, you didn't deliberately hurt yourself. Now that everything is fine, you stab yourself in the leg because your mind is showing you twisted shit. You are one fucked up guy._


	18. Chapter 18

**Authors Notes:** Please forgive me for not answering the reviews I got on the last chapter. This week has been an extremely busy one for me, with doctors appointments, house repair appointments, so on and so forth, that this is the first time I've had a few moments to work on my stuff. But, the good news is that I'm off the antibiotics, and the incision from the appendix removal is no longer draining, therefore, I no longer have to go to the surgeon for antibiotic shots! And, I might even have finally gotten my shower fixed (it's been a problem child since we bought the house. My advice? Avoid buying property that was used for rental. Almost every repair done previously is a terrible, half botched job. We've found plumbing that was fixed with duct tape, holes in the wall fixed with tape and paint, you name it, we've found it.)

But, I want to get back on schedule, so here's the next chapter. Since I've had folks ask, let me explain... I haven't really written anything in a few weeks. The only reason why I can still post a chapter every week is because before I began to publish this story, I had it all written in rough draft. This way, my reader know that they will get to see the end of the story, it won't just sit there, half finished. I work on editing/rewriting later, but if something happens and I can't finish editing the story, I can at least post the rough draft so folks will know how the story is meant to go.

Okay, Willow has babbled enough.

* * *

.

 **Chapter** **Eighteen**

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

When Mox woke up Friday morning, his leg hurt, but it wasn't the same type of pain. It was less sharp and more thudding; the the pounding pain, similar to a migraine. He took two more Tylenol and lingered in his room until he heard Faulk's car, which needed some muffler work, coming down the street. Using his childhood skills of being able to push pain aside, Mox forced himself to hurry down the stairs and out the door, tossing a quick, "Sorry, overslept, gotta run, see you later!" over his shoulder to the family.

When he got into Faulk's car, there was a cup of coffee in the cup holder on his side of the car and Mox was grateful. "Thanks," he said as he took a sip.

"You're welcome," Faulk said. "And by the way, that cute redhead at the coffee shop, asked about you."

Mox shook his head as he fastened his seat belt. "What the hell is _her_ problem?" Faulk was right, the redhead was cute, but Mox felt like she looked at him or Faulk way too much when they were in there.

"I don't think she has a problem, I think she's used to seeing us together, because she normally works the night shift." Faulk pulled away from the curb, heading down the street. "So, she's used to seeing the both of us together. I think she thinks we're dating or something."

 _Is everyone obsessing over dating?_ It seemed to Mox that if you were seen with a person who wasn't family more than once, people assumed you were dating. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "God, the world is obsessed with sex," he muttered.

Faulk's eyes were on the road, not looking in Mox's direction at all. "Does it bother you that she might think we're dating?"

Mox shrugged, even though Faulk wouldn't see it. "Not the general idea, but I don't get why she jumped to the conclusion. It's not like we were making out or something. And even if we _were_ dating, would it be any of her fucking business?"

"Whoa, don't blame her. She didn't _ask_ me if we were dating, I just think she might suspect we are. She didn't say anything about it, it's just a hunch I had." Faulk shook his head. "Maybe _I_ read to much into it."

Mox sighed; his leg was hurting, and the Tylenol wasn't taking the edge off as well as it had the night before and it was making him snappish. "It's cool. I'm still at the grumpy stage of waking up," he lied, as he raised the cup of coffee and took a large gulp. "This will set me straight, I promise."

"Okay, I didn't mean to get you upset." Without taking his eyes off the road, Faulk took his own coffee out of the coffee holder, drank some, then lowered it back into the holder.

"Nah, it's just me being an asshole," Mox said. "Sorry, dude."

"Everyone has a right to be an asshole before coffee," Faulk said. "If it isn't a law, it should be."

Mox grinned and raised his coffee as if giving a toast. "I'll drink to that."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

By the time Faulk was driving him home that night, Mox knew he was in trouble. The pain in his leg was still throbbing, rather than stinging, but it also felt hot at the wound sight, a heat that was radiating out in a circle, like ripples in a pond. He'd been able to find some better first aid supplies and made a better wrap for it, than an old t-shirt, but there hadn't been any antibiotic ointment. He thought about asking Cody or Les if there was any in another location, but he was afraid they'd ask him why he needed it, and even if he could come up with a believable lie, they would want to see it. MRSA and other infections had the potential to run rampant through warm, moist, environments like locker rooms, so any and all infections were taken seriously at HWA.

"Are you okay?" Faulk asked as they pulled up in front of the Miller house. "You've been quiet all day."

Mox fell back on the same excuse he used with Roman. "I think I might be coming down with one of those summer colds."

"Wow, that sucks," Faulk sympathized. "If you can't make it tomorrow, let me know. I don't have to wrestle, so I'm sure I could run the stand for you."

Mox shook his head. Wrestlers didn't keep away from wrestling because of the sniffles or, wounds for that matter. They took some meds or wrapped up, and kept going. He wouldn't give Les and Cody a reason to laugh at him, or to shame Sefa for training him to be weak. "No, I'll just take a shot of NyQuil and get some sleep."

"The coughing, sniffling, sneezing, if I take two shots I'll be trippin' balls, cold medicine," Faulk said, grinning.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

There was a bottle of cherry NyQuil in the downstairs bathroom. Even though he didn't have a cold, Mox ended up taking a double shot anyway. It did the job and Mox slept well. In the morning, while the wound still felt hot and throbbing, his head was fairly clear. _Maybe I've beat this after all,_ he thought.

But the red and hot area around the wound seemed a little larger, and had more red lines that almost looked like bloody lightning. It felt hotter too, and the heat was going from the whole leg and into his groin. The wound itself was oozing a yellowish-green substance and smelled bad. Mox knew that if he was still Timmy, Simon would put him on antibiotics, but Mox had no idea how he was supposed to get those. He took a shower, almost passing out from the pain, but forced himself to let the water clean out the wound. He hadn't thought to bring extra first aid supplies from work to bandage his leg, so he tore up the rest of the Bret Hart t-shirt and made himself another makeshift bandage.

He knew he needed to do something, that this wasn't going to go away, but he just didn't know what he could do without bringing all kinds of trouble. And if he _did_ come up with a way to make the injury look like a true accident, no one looking at the wound would believe it had just happened, which would make the accident story harder to believe.

 _I'll think of something,_ he told himself. _There's got to be something I can do to fix this without getting other people involved._

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

The surprise Amber was making for Mox was finished, but she had left it over at Britney's house to give it time to dry properly. She and Britney had worked on it Friday. Britney was much better with a paint brush than Amber was, and she had wanted this to be perfect, so she had Brit help her. Thankfully, Mox had come home late and probably just went right to bed, because he hadn't noticed anything missing from his room.

Mox didn't have breakfast with them, Saturday morning, which was good, because she probably would have blurted out her surprise, she was _that_ excited about it. It was getting harder and harder not to tell her family about it, but she wanted to give it to Mox first.

After breakfast and getting permission from her parents, Amber skipped over to Britney's house. Britney let her in and the two girls went down to the basement, which doubled as a sort-of arts and crafts place, because it was just a dark area with cement walls and floors. Britney's dad had put a big table down there, with some chairs, a bunch of lights, and a shelf where Britney kept all of her paints and other art supplies.

The surprise was lying on the table, on some spread out newspapers and Amber's breath caught in her throat as she looked at it. It was so beautiful and so perfect she was afraid to touch it.

"It's dry, don't worry," Brit said, when Amber tentatively reached out a finger to touch it, and then hesitated. "I used the blow dryer on it it again after you left, just to make sure."

Amber touched it, gently stroking it. "Oh, Brit, it's perfect!" Amber felt as if she and Brit had performed a miracle. They had taken something plain and boring, and turned it into something wonderful. Something she was sure Mox would love forever. Amber had no clue why this had been important to Mox before, but she was sure it was going to become _twice_ as special now.

She took her hand away to stare at it again. It was the rock, Mox had brought with him from Florida, but unless you'd really studied it before now, you would never, in a billion, maybe even a _trillion_ , years guess it was the same rock.

Where it used to be so boring, it's with it's gray sort-of color, it was now a glossy, shiny black. She had put three coats of paint on it, using the blow dryer on it between each coat to have it dry quicker. When that was done, Britney had painstakingly painted the name "Mox" on it. Amber was convinced it was the best paint brush printing Brit had ever done. Amber was sure that she wouldn't have been able to do as well with a pen or pencil on paper. Brit hadn't made the letters too curly either, because they both agreed that guys didn't like curly things. Girls liked swoops and circles, boys like edges and corners. They had debated between them, what other decorations they should paint on it, knowing that guys didn't like butterflies or flowers. They finally settled on a green vine with leaves. Vines weren't girly, Brit said, and she knew that because her daddy had a vining plant on his desk top. So, Amber painted a square of vines and leaves around Mox's name. Britney used just a little glitter paint on some of the leaves. Not too much, boys didn't like sparkles, but just enough that it brightened the whole thing.

When they finished that up, they had sprayed the whole thing with a clear paint, that Brit called shellac, and that made it very shiny. It had taken the two girls all of yesterday to make, because they had to use the blow dryer between coats. They only took a break for lunch, because Brit's mother had insisted. Looking at it now, Amber was sure this was the best thing she and Brit had ever made together. If this had been a school project, it would have earned them both an A.

"I hope you don't mind, I showed it to Mommy," Brit said. "Even she said it was really good. She said you couldn't tell that it was made by kids, that it looked as good as something an _adult_ artist would make."

Amber nodded, feeling a lump in her throat as she stared at it. _He is going to love this,_ she thought, _It's just perfect. This might be the most wonderful rock ever painted._

"Mom found a box for it, too," Britney said. "A nice box, too. It's going to fit it perfectly, you'll see."

Unable to describe the joy she was feeling, Amber turned and gave her best friend a fierce hug.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Mox had no clue at all how he managed to make it through Saturday at HWA. And by Saturday night when the show was going on, he felt so hot and dizzy, he was sure he was going to pass out. But he didn't. He stumbled a few times, he screwed up a few orders, but he managed to make it through and if anyone asked him about it, he pulled out the summer cold excuse. He had one moment that made him nervous, when he used the excuse on Les who just stared at him for what seemed far too long. "I-is something wrong?" Mox finally asked.

"No," Les said, "but don't worry about cleaning the stand and the locker room tonight. You can go home right after the main event starts. And, if you are not feeling a lot better by tomorrow morning, get your ass to a doctor, med clinic, or the emergency room, okay? Because you look more like you have the flu to me, than a cold."

"I will, Mr. Thatcher," Mox said, but he crossed his fingers.

Les reminded him, yet again, that he could call him Les, not Mr. Thatcher, before he walked off.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

That night, as he and Faulk headed to Faulk's car, Mox's body just gave up. He brought his injured leg down to take a step, and the leg would not support his weight and he pitched forward. By then, the heat Mox had felt had been replaced by chills, so he was almost grateful for the heat from the pavement that had been baking in the hot sun all day. And he just lay there, on his stomach, liking the heat, but his mind telling him how badly he was fucked.

If he hadn't been looking like such crap the last couple days, Mox would have expected Faulk to laugh at him and tell him he was being a klutz, but instead, Faulk knelt down beside him. "Mox, are you okay?"

Mox tried to nod, but it came out as a shake of the head instead. "Leg," he finally managed to say. "It's fucked up."

"What happened?" Faulk asked, sounding instantly concerned. "Did you tear a muscle?"

Mox finally managed to roll over so he was looking up at Faulk. "Stab wound," he said, gasping. "I think it's infected."

Faulk's eyes widened as he stared at Mox. Mox knew even under the parking lot lights, Faulk could see he was flushed and that his eyes were likely fever bright. "We're not going to be able to fix this by just cleaning out the wound."

It wasn't a question, but Mox nodded anyway. "It's too far gone for that." He was embarrassed, but he knew all his excuses were used up.

"How did it happen?"

"I stabbed myself." Mox used his arms to raise himself into a sitting position. "With a letter opener." If he was going to be honest, he might as well go all the way.

"How did _that_ happen?"

"I did it deliberately," Mox confessed and to his relief, Faulk didn't ask him why.

"We're going to the emergency room," Faulk announced, his tone of voice indicating this was not, up for discussion. "Can we get you in the car so I can drive you there, or do we call an ambulance?"

"I can get to the car," Mox said, "If you help me." He still felt like shit, but a part of him was relieved. No matter what happened now, at least he no longer had to pretend he was fine.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Donna wouldn't admit it to Mox, but she never went to sleep on Friday or Saturday nights until she heard him come home. She had debated this with herself many times, part of her thinking that it was certainly okay to wait up for a sixteen year old boy to come home, but another part of her, afraid Mox would think she was trying too hard to mother him. It was hard enough for her to play the game of "I'm more of an aunt than a mother." Her compromise was to stay in the master bedroom, either watching TV or reading a book, and being grateful Jacob could sleep through anything. When she heard the front door, she would quickly click off her little reading light or turn off the TV, and make no noise until she heard him going upstairs.

To be fair, Mox never took advantage. The few times he decided to go somewhere with Faulk after the shows, he always let her know; a phone call if it was early enough, a text if he thought she might be sleeping.

So, when it was after 1:00 in the morning, and there had been no text or call, she went from concerned to very worried. This wasn't like Mox. Mox may not feel that she was his mother, but he was considerate and did let her know whenever he knew he was going to be later than usual.

She wasn't able to sit still in bed, so she got up and went to the kitchen, getting a glass of milk. As she sat at the kitchen island drinking it, she texted him, a simple, "Is everything all right?" and decided if she didn't hear back by 1:30, she was going to call him.

At 1:27 her cell phone rang and the caller ID said it was Mox. She answered it before the second ring. "Mox, is everything okay?"

"Mrs. Miller?"

Donna recognized the voices as Faulk's and a wave of dread passed over her. "Faulk, is everything okay?"

Only a brief hesitation before he answered. "Mox is in the emergency room," he said. "He's okay, but he asked me to call you. He would have, but you know how hospitals are about using cell phones. I-I know I'm using Mox's phone, but your number is programmed into it and it's not in mine."

"Faulk, if Mox is in the emergency room, everything is _not_ okay. What happened?" Donna struggled to keep her voice neutral when she wanted to scream at the guy.

"He, uh, has an injury," Faulk said, in a voice that made Donna instantly alert that there was more going on than Faulk wanted to tell her. "A cut on his thigh. It's pretty infected."

 _"Infected?"_ Donna repeated, knowing that injuries didn't show signs of infection right away, so this cut on his thigh didn't happen today, it must have happened before. "Infected badly enough that he's at the emergency room?"

"Yes, Mrs. Miller," Faulk said, and Donna could hear the discomfort in his voice. There was more to this story than he was telling her, and she had the feeling he didn't want to tell her everything on the phone. "He was saying he had a summer cold, but he didn't look great yesterday and he really was looking bad today. Then, when we were leaving, he fell down, he said his leg wouldn't hold him up. So, I drove him to the hospital. I know you're a nurse, but I thought, with the fever and chills, he'd probably need antibiotics."

Other symptoms were going through Donna's mind too. If he'd been running a fever and chills, he could be dehydrated. She knew the hospital would perform the most basic of lifesaving measurements, but if more was required, a parent or guardian would have to give permission. "Which hospital are you at?"

"The university hospital," Faulk said. "It's the closest one to HWA."

"I'm on my way."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Faulk was waiting outside the emergency room exit when Donna drove up, pacing around the entrance door. Being a Saturday night, the parking lot was crowded with cars. "If you trust me, I'll park the car for you, and you can go inside," he said, when she had rolled down her window to talk to him. "I told the desk you were coming."

Not for the first time, Donna was grateful that Mox had become friends with Faulk, he was a truly considerate young man. She got out of the car and let him get in. She was about ready to rush in when he called out to her, "Mrs. Miller?"

She looked at him expectantly. He looked nervous. "I-I have to tell you something," he said. She waited, hoping he wasn't going to say he'd been the one to injure Mox, because the look on his face was pure guilt. "Mox's wound?" he said, swallowing. "It's a stab wound and he told me he'd done it to himself."

Donna was already shocked and this only served to add to it. "He stabbed _himself?_ Did he say _why?"_

Faulk shook his head. "He just told me he'd done it deliberately. I-I didn't tell the doctor's, I just said he had a puncture wound on his thigh and I didn't know he had it until he collapsed. He didn't say not to tell the doctor, but I figured that was his business. But, in case he lies or something, I think _you_ should know."

Donna nodded. "Thank you for telling me."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

When Donna told them at the front desk who she was, they let her into the back almost immediately, and the nurse in the emergency area took her to Mox. He was on a gurneys, and Donna was relieved to see he'd been hooked up to an IV. One leg of his jeans had been ripped off above the injury and there was a nurse washing it out with sterile water. Normal procedure would have been to remove his pants, but Donna was pretty sure Mox had kicked up a huge fuss about it, and they had done this instead, just so he'd calm down. If Mox wasn't hurt, she might have found this faintly amusing, that he was terrified of being seen in his underwear, but yet wanted to join a profession where he'd be expected to wear the tiniest of garments, smaller than briefs, certainly smaller than the boxers he usually wore.

His eyes were closed, but when she went over to him, going to the side of his good leg, they fluttered open. "Hey," he whispered softly.

"Hey, yourself," Donna said, trying to sound neutral, even though that was the last thing she was feeling. She wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him and tell him how much she loved him and how glad she was that he was getting help, and she wanted to shake him and yell at him that he was an idiot for deliberately hurting himself.

"I fucked up, and I'm sorry," Mox said.

"Well, we all screw up," Donna said, trying her best not to say anything about the wound being self inflicted. She wasn't sure what Mox had told the doctors or nurses.

"He's dehydrated," the nurse cleaning the wound said. "We're giving him fluids and antibiotics now. The doctor is going to decide if she's going to stitch it, or pack it. It's a thin wound and if he'd come in here when it happened, it would have been stitched or Steri-stripped, but with the infection, we might just pack it and let a wound specialist make the call. Dr. Anderson is trying to see if we have a wound specialist on call who can come in, but that might not be possible. There is a wound clinic open tomorrow if we can't get anyone to come here."

"I'm a nurse," Donna said. "And I work at a school for boys, so I know quite a bit about wounds. But, if he needs to see a specialist, I will get him there."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Mox had not told the doctor's that the wound was self inflicted, he'd said it was an accident, and left it at that. Due to his condition, nobody pressed the issue, but when Dr. Anderson came in to check on him, Donna knew the Doctor suspected it was not a simple accident. Donna said nothing while she checked the wound, and made the choice to pack it and have Mox go to a wound clinic the next day. But, when she was finished and left the cubical, Donna followed her.

When they were out of earshot, Donna stopped her. "I-I want you to know, he's seeing a talk therapist," she blurted out.

Dr. Anderson frowned for a moment, then nodded. "You don't think someone stabbed him? Because I know it wasn't an accident."

"Nobody stabbed him," Donna said softly. "I'm 99% sure of that. His friend, the young man who drove him here, told me Mox told him it was a self inflicted wound. Mox-" she paused, trying to find the right words. "Mox had a very... _difficult_ childhood," she said. "Very difficult and very painful. I don't want to go into it, but he's only recently come back into my life after eleven going on twelve years. If you knew the whole story, you'd probably be amazed at how well he _is_ doing, but he isn't completely over it, and he might never be. I-I don't know why he did this, but I will encourage him to talk to his therapist about it, and if he doesn't tell her when he next sees her? _I_ will tell her. As far as I know, he's never done anything like this before."

Dr. Anderson hesitated as if thinking this over, but finally nodded. "As long as steps are being taken to help him, I have no problem having him released into your custody once he's properly hydrated. We've given him some powerful antibiotics to jump start destroying the infection, as well as painkillers. We'll be sending you home with a script for more antibiotics. Make sure he takes them until they're all gone, unless the wound specialist says otherwise. The wound clinic opens at 8:00 tomorrow, and is only open until 2:00, because of Sunday hours. We've left a message on their answering machine to expect him, but I strongly suggest you get there when they open."

"I will," Donna said gratefully.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Faulk had left the keys to Donna's car and a note at the discharge area. On one side of the note was a crude map, showing Donna where he'd parked her car. On the other side was writing:

 _Mrs. Miller,_

 _Since you were here to take care of things, I just decided to go home.  
Please call or text me, or have Mox call or text me, just so I know he's  
all right. _

_And if there's anything I can do, let me know._

 _Faulkner_

Donna smiled at the use of his full name when signing the note. Under it was a PS where he had written down his cell phone number. She put the note in her pocket with they keys. She settled Mox in a seat and told him she would bring the car to the front to pick him up. Mox nodded. She handed him his cell phone as well. "While I'm getting the car, you should text Faulk and tell him you're okay," Donna suggested.

Mox looked uncomfortable, then nodded. "I-I will."

As she headed out of the door and across the parking lot, she turned to see Mox, through the window. He was on his phone, hopefully texting Faulk.


	19. Chapter 19

Q: Why don't ducks fly upside down?

A: Because then they'd quack up. 

I know, I know... "Slinks off to the corner in shame"

* * *

.

 **Chapter Nineteen**

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

By the time they left the emergency room, it was after seven, and since the wound clinic was closer than home was, Donna went there first. They got there at 7:30 and expected to have to wait in the car, but the receptionist was already there and allowed them inside.

Since they were the first patients to arrive, they got Mox into a waiting room quickly. A nurse came in and took his vital signs and accepted the information Donna had gotten from the hospital. The nurse assured them that the information was probably already sent via computer, but she'd make sure. "It might be awhile," she ended with. "The doctor won't be in until eight and he'll want to look over the information before he comes in. I hope you don't mind waiting a bit."

Mox was sitting on the exam table, eyes glazed over from the painkillers he'd been given. He shrugged and Donna nodded. "That will be fine, we're just glad he'll be able to see him today."

When she left the room, Donna felt the silence filling the room, almost seeming to stretch it out. "Are you feeling all right?" she finally asked.

Mox shrugged. "I'm tired and fucked up," he admitted.

Donna wondered what he was admitting to when he said he was "fucked up." Was he saying he was high from the painkillers, or was he talking about his self inflicted wound? Maybe both? She longed to ask him why he'd done it, but she had a feeling any answer he gave would be lies. He was going to keep this one close to his chest.

The silence stretched out again, and Donna began to fill it by telling him things from his early childhood. Cute stories of things he had said or things he'd done. How the two of them had played hot lava in the living room, or how he had loved the box macaroni and cheese. "We almost never had the good stuff, the actual Kraft. We always had the store brand or even the generic stuff, but you _loved_ it. I was actually surprised that you doctored it up when you made it for the twins, because you loved it just as it was when you were younger. Your foster family helped refine your taste buds." She laughed, in an attempt to interject some levity into what was a mildly uncomfortable situation.

" _Mom_ is a good cook," Mox said, shrugging. "She makes most stuff from scratch, but if she has to make something from a box or can, she can make it taste even better."

Donna tried not to wince at Mox calling Jen, "mom." While he never called _her_ "Mom," he usually referred to Jen as "JenMom." She realized now that he did that to be nice to her, not because he felt conflicted. He might _like_ her, but he thought of Jen as his mother. She wasn't even in the running.

Again, that irritating silence came over the room, but this time it was Mox who broke it. "So, I was a perfect kid?" He was looking at her, eyes overly bright and whether it was remains of the fever, or the painkillers, she couldn't say.

"No, you weren't perfect," Donna said, "You had your moments, but for the most part, you were a good child. You have the athleticism and energy, like Amber has, but behavior-wise, you were more like Zach. A little shy when you were a toddler, but you weren't a bad kid. You learned to talk at an early age, and you were always very smart for your age."

"Really?" Mox stared at her. "If I was so perfect, then why was it so easy for those creeps who took me to convince me you'd _sold_ me? When they told me, I remembered that I'd done all sorts of bad things I'd done. Like dropping glasses on the floor, or stuffing things down the toilet so it overflowed. I remembered you screaming at me a lot, that I was a bad kid."

Donna swallowed. "Dean," she began.

"Mox," he interrupted, firmly.

Donna hadn't even realized she'd called him Dean. She had been trying so hard not to and thought she had it under control. "Mox," she began again, "I was _high_ most of the time back then," she tried to keep her voice gentle. "And if I wasn't high, I was trying to figure out what to do to _get_ high. It wasn't your fault. _I_ was a bad mother. None of that was on you, that was all on me."

Mox snorted. "Yeah, I was a fucking angel."

"Not an angel," Donna said, trying to smile. She wondered if she should be correcting his language. She felt she should, but maybe that would be too much for him, now.

"Come off it," Mox said, and Donna saw his nostrils were flaring and he was angry. "You do this all the time, you make it out like I was this delightful child, nearly perfect. And that anything bad went down, it was all because of you and the drugs. Seriously, I'm not buying it." His voice was rising, not to screaming level, but loud enough that Donna thought someone outside the door might hear them. "If I was _such_ a fucking little delight, why the fuck did you start taking drugs again in the first place?"

Now it was Donna's turn to stare as she tried to come up with the right words to explain to him that her weakness that lead her to start taking drugs again, had nothing to do with him, when in the worst case of timing, the doctor walked in.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

They did not get back to the house until around ten o'clock, and neither of them mentioned Mox's outburst before the doctor had walked in. The wound doctor had unpacked the wound, repacked it, and said that he should come once a week until the doctor was sure it was healing up properly. He approved of the antibiotics the hospital had given, gave him supplies to keep the wound clean, dry, and packed. He wrote a script for a mild painkiller and when Mox asked if it was a necessary drug, the doctor explained that if he didn't feel he needed it, he didn't have to take it, but that he also shouldn't let his pain get to the point where it was all he could think about. Mox wondered what the doctor would have said if Mox had told him about how much pain he'd have to go through before it was all he could think about.

When they got into the house, Jacob, Zach and Amber wanted to press Mox with questions, but Mox shook his head. "I haven't slept. I'm just going to bed." And before anyone could object, he headed up the stairs.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Amber had no idea how Mox had gotten hurt, she just knew he had been hurt. He'd gotten a wound of some type, and it had gotten infected. That had surprised her, because their mom was a nurse. A nurse knew how to clean a wound so it wouldn't get infected, so why hadn't Mox told her he'd been hurt and let Mom fix it?

When she asked Mommy about it, she said that the accident had happened at work, and he hadn't had a chance to show her. Amber thought that didn't sound right, either. Cuts didn't become instantly infected, it took awhile. Enough time for Mox to have shown their mom and had her clean it and make it better. She remembered how nervous he was about being seen, even in underwear, and thought maybe the wound was near his private bits and thus he'd been too shy to show their mother, which didn't seem very good to her. Nurses and doctors had to be able to see any part of you that was hurt, or else how would you get better?

Then, she thought about the rock she had, neatly packed into its box and smiled. She didn't know what was going on, but she sensed Mox wasn't happy, and she just knew that when she gave him the rock, that would cheer him up.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Drowsy from lack of sleep and painkillers still buzzing in his system, Mox barely got his clothes off before he fell on the bed and passed out. He slept soundly until six o'clock that night, and when he woke up, he was foggy and groggy, that drugged sleep he remembered from his childhood, but his leg, while not perfect, was calm now, the pain easy to tolerate, even when he stood up and put weight on it. He threw on a pair of sweatpants and an SPWA shirt, and went to the bathroom. He had been told not to shower until the wound doctor saw him again, so he took a sink bath with cool water, letting it wash away some of the fog. When he was done, he felt better. The bandage around the injury looked fine, but he knew it was supposed to be changed 2-3 times per day. He would have done it himself, but Donna had take it upon herself to take the supplies and tell him that he'd have to come to him to be fixed. Mox didn't like this, but he understood.

When he got downstairs, the family was watching TV. "We got you a pizza," Donna said. "We weren't sure what time you would wake up, or if you would feel like eating. If you want, I could heat it in the oven."

Mox shook his head. "Cold pizza is fine. Can you check my wound?" He noticed out of the corner of his eye, that Amber was bouncing on the couch, looking as if she was ready to start doing back flips around the room.

"Sure," Donna said, rising from a chair. "Sit here."

Mox did as he was told. While Donna ran off to get the supplies, he looked over at Amber. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "I have a present for you an' I've been waiting _forever_ to give it to you!"

"Really?" Mox was puzzled, but he knew by now that if you were offered a gift, you said thank you, you didn't act puzzled. He remembered his sixteenth birthday, when he'd gotten his laptop, how he'd been so bewildered he'd asked why and the Reigns, Mom in particular, had been so hurt at first. "That was nice of you. I don't have anything for you."

"You don't have to!" Amber said, beaming. "You fixed my bike, that's enough! Do you want your present? You're going to love it!"

"Let your Mom make sure his leg is okay first, then you can give it to him." Jacob said, then turned his attention to Mox, "I really want to thank you for fixing Amber's bike. I would have done it, but I was just so tired and your mother wanted me to sleep."

Mox tried not to wince when Jacob referred to Donna as his mother. "It's fine, it wasn't a big deal," he said. "We asked at the bike shop and they said the only solution was to replace the wheel and the tire and all. So all we did was put a new wheel on the bike."

"And fixed the brakes so they worked good!" Amber reminded him. She was still bouncing on the sofa, willing to wait as her father had asked, but obviously not wanting to.

"Again, it's fine," Mox said. This enthusiastic hero worship was a puzzle to him. It really hadn't been such a big deal, fixing Amber's bike, or making sure Scott better cut his crap out. But it was a whole lot to Amber. He looked at Jacob, wanting to get off the subject of the bike. "How is your back doing, now?"

" _Much_ better," Jacob said. "They have me on a combination of Tylenol and Ibuprofen. It's working better for the pain than the prescription stuff was, and it doesn't fog my brain."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Donna returned with the supplies and a folding chair which she set up next to him. With brisk efficiency, she removed the old bandage, checked the wound, repacked it, and put a new, sterile gauze pad over it. "It's looking good," she remarked.

Mox had seen the packing she'd pulled out and it was yellow and bloody, and not very appealing, but she was the nurse, so he took her world for it.

" _Now_ can I give him my gift?" Amber asked, leaping off the sofa. "Pretty please?"

"Well, maybe Mox wants to have something to eat, first," Donna said, biting her lower lip.

"It's okay," Mox said, seeing the look of disappointment beginning on Amber's face. "I'm not that hungry, I'd like to get my gift, first." He smiled, sensing that Amber would appreciate it if he seemed eager.

Amber didn't even wait for a response from her parents, she ran out of the room and returned a few seconds later with a plastic box, which she handed to him. The box proclaimed to be from a maker of "Fine Accessories For Men." "The box is just a box," Amber said, as she stood there, waiting for him to open it. "I didn't get you a watch. I made you somethin'. Well, actually, Britney an' I made it, because she's better at painting letters than I am. An' Britney's mom had the box and said I could use it! An' it fit, perfectly!"

There was something sweet about Amber's eagerness. She was as excited about _giving_ this gift to him, as she would have been _getting_ a gift from someone else. "Should I open it?" he asked, just to watch her excitement a little longer.

" _Yes!"_ she insisted, almost dancing.

"All right then." He knew that the whole family was looking at him now, which made him a little uncomfortable, but, it could be worse, they could all be questioning him about his leg, which was something he did not want. Slowly, trying to draw Amber's enthusiasm a little more, he opened the box.

Even with the paint and the glitter and his name on it, Mox knew the rock immediately, and he was horrified. It was _the_ rock, the rock that Roman had grabbed, ready to use on Dennis and Simon, if all else failed. It was the rock Roman had carried around with him the entire day, until Mox took it from him, the rock that Roman was willing to bring to a gunfight. And his first reaction was to scream at Amber, to grab her and shake her, yell at her that she had no right at all, taking that rock from his room. If she wanted to give him a _pretty_ rock, she could have grabbed one from anyplace, and painted it, but no, she had to take _his_ rock. The rock he'd _told_ her that he liked just the way it was.

His ability to hide his emotions, choke back his anger and sadness, served him well right now, because he didn't scream or yell or do any of the things he wanted to do. But he couldn't fake enthusiasm completely, the best he could do was give a watery smile. "Uh, wow," he said, "This is… something."

He stared at the rock, which did nothing for how he was feeling, but at least he was avoiding looking at Amber, who was awful quiet. _She knows I'm not thrilled._

He started to feel trapped, not wanting to look at Amber, not wanting to disappoint her, but trying to process that the rock that represented so much was now nothing but a shiny, glittery, paperweight with his name on it. She'd taken all the meaning away from it, she had turned it into something that was all about _him_ , not about Roman, or that day when his entire family had done what they could to get him away from Dennis and Simon, they day they had likely saved his life.

"It's better now, isn't it?" Amber asked, her voice quivering slightly. "I worked really _hard_ on it. I got Brit to help me because Brit is much better with a paint brush! We used so much paint and we had to use a blow dryer between coats. And Brit painted the letters so slowly to get them p-perfect and we tried not to use too much glitter and we put a bunch of clear paint, that's called shellac when we were done, to make it shiny, and don't you like it?"

Mox forced himself to look at Amber and saw the tears brimming in her eyes. _I have to get out of here,_ he thought. _I can't breath._ His heart was thudding in his chest as if it were trying to burst out of his rib cage and no matter how much he told himself it was a panic attack, not a heart attack, part of him was sure if he didn't get out of here, right now, he'd die. He swallowed, hoping his own eyes weren't brimming with tears. "I-I-I like it," he stammered, "I-I-It's just… I wasn't expecting something, so, so…. nice." He didn't know where the words were coming from, he was just grateful they were. "You-you-you worked so hard on this."

Amber's nodded, a slow, wary nod as if she wasn't quite buying what Mox was saying.

"I-I'll cherish it always," he said, almost choking on the word "cherish." "It's really wonderful…" He rose to his feet, looking around the room, hoping he wasn't looking crazy and panicked as he felt. He was still holding the rock and the box, and for a moment, he felt like both were burning his hands. He forced himself to clutch on to them tighter, even though every instinct said to drop them. "Thank you so much, Amber… I-I'll be right back, I-I have to go check something with my bike. I think I left something on it. I-I'll be back."

Before anyone could say anything, Mox hurried out of the room, through the kitchen and out into the garage. He put the box on the shelf that held chemicals for the car and the yard, thinking it wouldn't be that bad, it was the box, not the actual rock. The rock itself was burning a hole in his hand that seemed so real he had to look at it, to make sure he didn't see burning flesh. He shoved the rock into the pocket of his pants, thinking if it was out of sight, he'd no longer feel the heat, but instead, the heat started inside his pocket, so he pulled it out. He couldn't just go outside and throw it away, which he wanted to do, he had to put it somewhere that Amber wouldn't think was strange, but if he put it in his room, he'd know it was there. _Can I tell her I put it in my locker at work?_ Nothing was making sense to him, he had no clue if his thoughts were rational or not. Anger, he would have understood, and part of him _was_ angry. But, as he learned when he was younger, he was taking everything he felt and putting it into a huge ball that he could bury deep inside of him.

His bike helmet was on the handlebars of his bike, so he put the rock in there. He couldn't stop himself from watching it for a moment, just to make sure it didn't start to melt his helmet. _It isn't really hot, it's just a painted rock. It's harmless. It's meaningless. Roman grabbed it at random, he wouldn't think you should put so much sentiment into it. Let it go, Mox, let it just drift away, it's not important. Roll it into that ball and shove it down inside you. It's just a stupid rock!_

He couldn't do it. He fumbled into his other pocket for his phone and pulled it out. Flipping it open, he almost called Roman or Sefa, but he realized they could talk to him, but they couldn't get him away from here.

So, he called Faulk, who answered the phone on the second ring. "Mox, you okay?"

"No," Mox said flatly. "I am _not_ okay at all." He heard the sound of the door from the kitchen into the garage open, but he didn't turn to see who it was, he just hoped it wasn't Amber. "Please, can you pick me up? Can we go somewhere? I don't care, I just need to get out of here, I can't breathe."

"Yeah, I'm on my way," Faulk said, then added, "You really can breathe, right? I mean, it feels like you can't, but you are, right? Because if you're really not breathing, I'm calling 911."

"I think I'm having a panic attack," Mox admitted. "And I have to get out of here. Please?"

"I'm getting in the car as we speak," Faulk said. "I'm going to put the phone in the cup holder, so I can talk to you as I'm heading over. Just focus on my voice, Mox, if you want to say anything, go for it, I've got it on speaker, but remember, I have to focus on driving. So, if you can, just let me talk instead."

"Okay," Mox said, whirling around as he heard someone entering the garage.

Donna stood there, looking worried. "Mox?"

"I have to talk to Donna," Mox said into the phone. "She's out here and she's worried."

"Okay," Faulk said, sounding calm. "I won't say anything until I hear you say you're back."

"Okay," Mox said, and added, " _Please_ hurry."

"Mox, what's wrong?" Donna asked.

Mox looked at her. "She had no _right_ to paint that rock," he said, feeling his body shaking. "I _told_ her it was _my_ rock and that I didn't want it painted! The first day I was here, she saw it and she showed me her rock and said it was pretty because it was painted and I said that was good for her, but I liked my rocks plain and she fucking _painted_ it."

"Mox," Donna said, and Mox knew she was trying to keep her voice low and calm. "Amber is a little girl. Yes, she was wrong for what she did, but she really thought she was doing a nice thing. Why is it so bad that she painted _that_ rock? I'm not saying it wasn't bad, I'm just trying to understand why."

"Because it was _Roman's_ rock," Mox said, trying as hard as he could to keep his voice low so people in the house wouldn't hear him. "Roman _gave_ it to me, but it was _Roman's rock._ " He knew he was making no sense, but he couldn't explain it right now, couldn't find the words to tell her about that day and how the rock didn't just represent Roman, but the whole family. And how Amber's attempt to make it pretty took all the meaning away and made the rock only about him and Amber. That he was supposed to think of Amber every time he saw it. "I wouldn't have minded if she's painted another rock, but she painted _that_ one! It wasn't just a rock, it was something I could look at and _know_ I had a _family!_ That I had people who loved me in all the _right_ ways!"

"All right," Donna said, her voice still calm and steady, as if he was Zach or maybe one of the boys from the school she worked at, a little kid who was getting all upset over nothing. "Mox, let's calm down and talk about this."

"I _can't,"_ Mox said, and his voice sounded shaky. "Not right now. Maybe later, but not right now."

"I'm not sure I want you going out," Donna said. "So much has happened the last couple days and I'm worried about you."

"I _have_ to go out!" Mox almost shouted. "Donna, I _have_ to get out of here. I'll be with Faulk, you like Faulk, but I have to get out of here. I can't pretend I'm not upset and I don't want to freak Amber out." _Or_ _ **strangle**_ _her,_ his mind added. "Just let me go, Donna. Faulk is on his way over, just let me go off with him until I've calmed down."

Donna hesitated, then finally nodded. "But I'm going to wait with you, okay?" She looked around. "Where's the rock?"

"In my bike helmet," Mox said, "It was burning me. I know that sounds like shit, but it felt like it was burning me. I couldn't touch it anymore."

"All right," Donna said. "Let me take it, I'll put it somewhere. And I will talk to Amber about it."

Mox, at that point, did not care what Donna did with the damned rock. He never wanted to see it again and was almost terrified, he'd have to put it in the room he was using, so as not to hurt Amber's feelings. He'd have to probably put it on his bedside, so she'd think he loved it. He shuddered and turned his attention back to his cell phone. "I'm back."

"Welcome back," Faulk said, his voice calm. "I'm about halfway there from my house. There isn't much traffic, so I should be there shortly. It's a good thing it's Sunday and there isn't much traffic…" Mox half listened as Faulk described the scenery and gave landmarks to let Mox know he was close. Donna stayed close by, as they left the garage and stood outside on the driveway, but she said nothing.

When Faulk's car pulled up in front of the house, Mox didn't even say goodbye, he ran to the car and got in. "Thank you," he said to Faulk. "Thank you _so_ much."

"It's okay," Faulk said. "Where do you want to go?"

" _Anywhere,_ " Mox said, "But preferably some place without a lot of people around."

"Uhm, my parents are on vacation for the week," Faulk said with a slight hesitation. "So I have the house to myself. We could go there."

"That sounds great," Mox said, feeling relief flooding through him.

"Mox, what's going on?" Faulk asked. "I know this sounds lame, but I'm more than a little worried about you. First you tell me you stabbed yourself, then you call me up and tell me you have to get out of the house and you look and sound like your ready to fall apart. What's been happening?"

"I'll tell you when we get to your place," Mox said, buckling his seat belt. "I don't want to talk about it while we're driving, but once we're someplace alone and you don't have to focus on the road, I'll tell you."

"Okay," Faulk pulled away from the curb. "That sounds fair. And if you have to, you can crash at my place for the night, even for the week, too."

"I might take you up on that," Mox murmured.


	20. Chapter 20

**Random Thought Time**. Since I needed to start using my google account in order to be able to post to FFnet, I would really like it if I could upload google docs to their doc manager. It would sure make my life easier than to have to download it to another type of file on my hard drive, just to upload it here.

* * *

.

 **Chapter Twenty**

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

By the time they got to Faulk's house, Mox still wasn't sure what he was going to tell him. He knew Faulk was worried and he knew he was owed an explanation, but Mox wasn't ready to tell Faulk about his childhood, not about his father and Sam, no, _Dennis_ and _Simon_. He didn't want to talk about the abuse, especially the sexual stuff. He knew Faulk could be trusted, but he and Faulk were friends, he didn't want the guy thinking of him as nothing but a victim. So far, Faulk seemed to think Mox was fairly normal and Mox didn't want to see that end.

 _You already have,_ his thoughts reminded him. _He knows you stabbed yourself deliberately. You're a mental wreck right now, and he can see that clearly. You called him to help you. He knows you're not right in the head, so what difference does it make?_

Still, those years of his life when he was kidnapped and tortured were too big to handle. While growing up in the situation, Timmy might have half believed the lies he was told, that what was happening to him wasn't unusual at all, but Mox knew better. His childhood was so wrong that it was as if he'd been branded. People who found out were affected by it. He knew the Reign's were, but they also recognized that they had to let Mox at least try to be normal, so they did their best not to let it taint how they acted about him. He knew Donna and Jacob knew, and part of him felt that was why Donna was always so eager to tell him how perfect he'd been before the kidnapping. It was her way of trying to tell him that all the bad he was now, wasn't his fault. Which was nice and all, but it didn't take the bad away and it didn't make him a the person he might have become had he not been kidnapped. He was more flawed than almost everyone on this planet.

 _Everything is crashing,_ Mox thought, his mind racing, unable to pull it back in and calm down, _and I don't know how much longer I can deal with it!_

When they got inside the house, Faulk frowned. "I wouldn't say this, normally, because you're under age, but do you need a drink? Like some Brandy or something? My father has Brandy, Scotch, some things like that. I'm only suggesting because it might calm you down a bit."

Mox shook his head. "I don't drink," he said firmly. "How about coffee?"

Faulk frowned. "How about a Coke?" he suggested instead. They had headed right into the kitchen of the older, Victorian style home, and Faulk opened up the refrigerator and pulled out a can of soda, handing it to Mox.

Mox accepted it, noticing it was caffeine free Coke, and realized Faulk thought coffee would make what he was going through, even worse. _He's probably right_ , Mox thought, as he opened the can. _My heart already feels like it's racing_. He took a long drink from the can, pacing the kitchen.

"Mox, what's going on?" Faulk asked, opening his own soda.

"Nothing," Mox said. "Well, nothing to anyone but me. To everyone else except maybe my family, this is nothing. But it's not to me. It's _everything._ "

"Your family?" Faulk asked. "You mean Donna, Jacob and the twins?"

Mox shook his head. "Donna is my mom by blood, but I have another family in Florida. The Reigns family. You know who Nathan Reigns is, right?"

Faulk nodded slowly. "Samoan Pride. He's family?"

Mox knew Faulk was trying not to look skeptical, which Mox couldn't blame him for, considering that Mox was closer to the color of milk then to the golden toned skin of the Reigns family. "When I ran away from the people who… took me, Sefa, that's Nathan's legal name, his kids found me. They took me home and they became my foster family."

"Okay," Faulk said, sitting down at the kitchen table. "Where were you before that? I mean, who did you run away from?"

Mox still paced the kitchen. "These guys… they grabbed me when I was five. I was waiting for someone to come get me from school, and they said my mom had sent them to get me. I was a dumb kid, just a dumb kid, and I had seen them with my mother before…" his voice trailed off as he realized maybe he shouldn't have said that, because how would he explain his mother being friends with two guys that would kidnap him without talking about her previous drug use? "...or, at least I _thought_ I had," he half lied. "And I went with them. I know, but I was just a dumb kid. These guys took me and kept me with them for over ten years."

"And no one knew you were with them until you ran away?" Faulk asked. His brow was furrowed in concern, but he said no more.

Mox nodded. "They told me my mother had sold me. I-I don't know why I believed them, but I did. We lived in the projects and I knew money was really tight, even that young, I knew it, so maybe I just figured she sold me because she needed money that badly. It doesn't matter. What matters is that I was living with these two guys for a long time and then I ran away and I found the Reigns family and they took me in. That's why my last name is Moxley instead of Ambrose. I was born Dean Ambrose, but I'd forgotten my name, so Dad let me pick my name."

"Didn't the guys who kidnapped you give you a name?" Faulk asked.

"Yes," Mox said, "but I didn't want to use it. I still don't. I hate it. And I knew it wasn't my real name. So, Sefa helped me come up with Jon Moxley. And, because nobody knew where I belonged, I was a John Doe kid, and Florida got me ID and all under the name Jon Moxley. So, legally, I _am_ Jon Moxley, although Donna might be able to raise a fuss and make me become Dean Ambrose again, at least until I'm eighteen." He slammed his empty can on the counter top. "It doesn't matter!" he cried. "None of _this part_ really matters!"

"Okay, fine," Faulk held up his hands as if motioning him to stop. "I'm just trying to get up to speed. So, you were living with the Reigns family, and you even call Nathan, Dad. I guess you really did feel like they were family. But, how did you find out that Donna was your real mother?"

Mox's eyes narrowed. "My _birth_ mother," he said. "Jen Reigns is my mother, as far as I'm concerned. I know it isn't fair to Donna, but I didn't _ask_ to be kidnapped and l can't help it if I was able to see Jen as a mom. Sucks to be Donna, but it's a fact, I can't see her as my mom anymore. My mom is _Jen."_

"I get it," Faulk said, "But again, how did you find out Donna was your _birth_ mother?"

"The guys who kidnapped me," Mox explained, "They found me. Somehow, they found out where I lived and they came to… get me, one morning when I was doing the cross country run through the woods in the school, the SPWA." He knew he wouldn't have to explain the SPWA to Faulk, everyone in wrestling had heard of the place. They wanted me back, or at least fa- I mean, Dennis did. Simon wanted to kill me so I wouldn't be able to identify them. It got really bad. I don't want to go into details, but Simon had a gun. Lance, my little brother ran to get help. Marc, and Sefa had shotguns. Roman, who's my age, came along to show them where I was, because he knew the woods better than Dad or Marc did, and they weren't going to let Lance leave, he's only nine. Roman didn't have a gun, so he picked up a rock. A fucking _rock_ , thinking if he had to, he could try to save me by throwing it and hitting someone on the head." He stopped pacing and stared at Faulk, wanting him to understand this part. "He was bringing a fucking _rock_ to a _gunfight_. The only person who would do that is either an idiot or someone who really cared. Cared enough to risk everything."

Faulk nodded. "Did he have to use it?"

Mox shook his head and started pacing again. "Mom had called the Sheriff." He again decided not to give away the details that Dennis shoot Simon and proclaiming his undying love for Mox. Let Faulk fill in those hole with whatever he wanted. "It was... taken care of. But later that day, I realized Roman was _still_ holding that rock. So I asked him for it. Because… because…" his voice trailed off in frustration. He knew he had the words, he just couldn't find them and put them in the right order.

"Because it represented everything," Faulk said, his voice gentle. "It represented that your family loved you enough to save you. Because no one saved you before. You were kidnapped and your birth mother never saved you. Nobody saved you, you had to save yourself."

Mox nodded. "And then, Amber, trying to be nice, _painted that rock!_ She painted it black, had her friend put my name on it in white. Even put some green, sparkly shit around it. I know that it's the same rock just coated with shit, but it's not the same, not to me, and it never will be!" He clenched his fist, wanting to pound it into something. "She made it all about _me._ I never _asked_ her to, I even told her when she first saw it to leave it _alone._ I want to throw that rock at her head, but she's just a _kid, a_ _stupid_ kid, but a kid!"

"Mox, I get it," Faulk said, and his voice was gentle. "And maybe there's a way to save that rock, remove the paint and stuff. We can go to the hardware store and ask them, if you want."

"I can't do that as long as I'm here," Mox said. "Because I can't hide it, she'll ask about it." He stopped walking, his anger diminishing, only to be replaced with that feeling that there was one of those balls of all the bad, forming inside of him, and he had to find that dark hole to push it into. He was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, those balls were getting smaller and would disappear and the hole would seal up. Maybe he would learn to handle his emotions like everyone else, without having to store it all inside of him, all the bad. But it wasn't true. Ever since the day he'd run in the woods and instead of peace, found Dennis and Simon, he learned that it was all _still_ inside of him. He wanted to be Mox, but maybe it was too late. Maybe _Mox_ was the fantasy and the reality was Timmy.

He remembered the morning he had to go to give his statement at the Sheriff's office, how he had seen Timmy in the mirror, as if the little fucker had just been waiting for him. _I shouldn't be here,_ he thought. _I don't want to be here. I want-I want…_

He sat down on the kitchen chair across from Faulk. "I'm tired," he confessed. "I'm more than tired, I'm exhausted. I feel like I play a game all the time. A game called 'let's make the world think I'm normal.' I'm _not_ normal. I'm _not_ okay. And every time I start to think that maybe I am, something happens to remind me I'm not."

"Nobody is _normal,_ " Faulk said. "There is no standard you can call normal. The best we do is act normal in most situations, but even that is up for translation. I don't know what your life was like when you were kidnapped, but I can tell you that you're not the only one who feels out of place. I've felt the same way for a long time, if not all my life."

Mox looked at Faulk and frowned. "You _reek_ of normal, at least from how I see it. You go to college, you grew up in a decent house in a decent neighborhood, you've got a car, you drive, I mean, you seem like a role model for normal to me."

Faulk shrugged. _"I_ think I'm normal. But there is a lot of the world that thinks I'm abnormal, because what feels right to me, is not what feels right to them. It's okay not to be a normal person, Mox. What we should all try for is to be _good_ people."

"I don't think I'm a _good_ person, either," Mox said. "I try to be, but I know I'm not. I've got… dark spots inside me. A lot of dark spots."

Faulk rose from the table and walked behind him, "Mox, we all have dark spots. We all have dark thoughts. It's all right, it's just part of being human." He put his hands on Mox's shoulders and started rubbing them. "Dude, you are so tense, you're like a coiled spring!"

Mox froze. Sefa had made it clear to him that he, Mox, was in control of his own body. And for a very long time, nobody in the family dared to touch Mox without his permission. Eventually, Mox got used to, and even came to appreciate the hugs from Jen, the punches on the shoulder from Roman, the arm being draped around his shoulders by Marc and Sefa. Even Lance's rare, but often enthusiastic hugs became normal to him. He could wrestle and be able to put all the touching done in wrestling aside, because it was just part of what it was, it was the price you paid to play the sport and the sport was more important.

But he wasn't sure how he felt about Faulk touching him. He hadn't given permission. He knew Faulk would never hurt him, but he hadn't given _permission._ He felt his shoulders tense and so did Faulk.

"Relax, Mox, it's okay," Faulk said and stopped rubbing his shoulders, just resting his hands on them. "I won't hurt you, it's just that you're upset and I thought rubbing your shoulders would help you relax."

"It isn't," Mox said, twisting to knock Faulk's hands off his shoulders and rising from the chair, turning so he was facing him. "Sorry, I'm just not into that kind of thing," he said.

"Okay, sorry." Faulk took a few steps back, holding up his hands. "I won't do it again." But, then he started walking towards him. "It's okay to be different though. It's okay to not be what everyone thinks is normal. I get it. I've been there. Not about being kidnapped, but other things. You're young, Mox, still a kid in a lot of ways, despite what you've been through. As he talked, he began walking towards Mox, slowly, as if Mox were a frightened dog he was trying to soothe. "I know you're upset about the rock and I totally understand. We'll work that out. I'm more worried about you, you know? You stabbed yourself in the leg, and I haven't asked, but I'm worried. Self harm is… well, _harmful._ And the harm is more than just the physical wounds you cause yourself."

Mox forced himself not to run off and just stood there, as Faulk came over and stood right in front of him. "I'm-I'm not ready to talk about that," he said, his voice becoming softer. "I had some… _really_ bad thoughts and it was the only way I knew to get them out of my head. Because they seemed so real."

Faulk nodded and shrugged. "Seems a little drastic, maybe you could find another way of banishing bad thoughts. Like plunging your head in a sink full of cold water? You know, something that will shock you, but not… put holes in you."

Mox stared at him, thinking this might not be a bad idea, except that having a sink full of cold water always close by might be a difficult thing, but the idea was interesting. "Okay," he said, nodding.

Faulk was very close to him right now, standing right in front of him, and Mox wasn't sure why. Part of him said to step back, but he found himself frozen to the spot.

"It's okay, Mox, I'm here for you," Faulk said, and his voice was kind and soft and he reached up and cupped Mox's chin in his hand. "Do you believe me?"

There was nothing rough or demanding about Faulk's touch, and Mox could even sense it came from a place of caring, but in a way, that was even worse, because he knew what was coming. He _always_ knew what was coming, but when someone was gentle, it seemed to happen in slow motion. he knew what was expected of him, after all, this was what he had been trained for. Sure, it was usually rough and unpleasant, but not all the time. Not everyone wanted to be brutal, some wanted it to be sweet and gentle. They wanted to convince themselves that everyone involved _wanted_ this to happen. Faulk, apparently, was one of those.

So, when Faulk's lips touched his, Mox was confused, but Timmy wasn't. He could feel Timmy coming forward, almost feel as if Timmy was pushing Mox away. It wasn't too hard to see it in his mind, as if they were two people in his head. It wasn't that _Timmy_ liked it, it's just that Timmy got to the point where as long as they weren't hurting him, he knew how to just go with it.

Then it was Faulk's turn to be surprised, when "Timmy" wrapped his arms around him, and pulled him closer, kissing him deeper, because _Timmy_ knew this was what Faulk wanted. Faulk was one of those dudes who would be decent, but he still wanted what he wanted. The wide eyes was just part of the game.

Then, Mox found himself. _I did not come this far to go back to this life. I didn't, and I won't. Fuck you, Timmy. You might have saved our ass, but Dad told me, nobody is allowed to touch me without my permission. Faulk might be a friend, it might be okay for him to brush against me, or clap me on the back, punch me on the shoulder, fist bump, whatever, but this is going too far._ Drawing on all his inner strength, he visualized the smaller version of Mox that lived in his head, not just telling Timmy to stop, but punching him, a very hard, non wrestling punch. Startling Timmy so he was gone, at least temporarily. Then he stopped kissing Faulk and pushed him away from him so hard that Faulk fell backwards on the kitchen floor. "No!"

Faulk stared at him. "Mox, I did not want to take it this far, I know you're underage, but-"

" _No!"_ Mox roared this time. He didn't want to hear it, no excuses, nothing. He was angry at Faulk for giving Timmy power and furious at Timmy for still being there, still willing to take control. "My name is fucking _Jon Moxley!"_

Faulk rose from the floor looking confused, "Of course it is-" he began, but Mox shook his head. Faulk _didn't_ understand, but that wasn't Faulk's problem, that was _his._

As he looked around, Mox would have sworn the kitchen was getting smaller and smaller, as if the walls were moving towards the center and if he stayed in this room, in this place, not only would he and Faulk be forced to move close together, but in some twisted embrace, they would be crushed. "I have to get out of here," he said, looking around the room frantically.

"Okay," Faulk said, his expression a mixture of concern, hurt, and bewilderment. "Where do you want to go? We could go out in the backyard, if you need some open space, there's-"

"No!" Mox interrupted, "I have to get out of here, _now._ Not just from this room, but from this house, this place, and _you."_ He turned to run to the exit, to get down the hall and out the door. Faulk reached out and tried to grab his arm, but Mox pulled it away and just as his inner self had gone after Timmy, he punched Faulk as hard as he could, knocking him to the ground. Then ran from the room, down the hallway, fumbling to get the door open. He thought he might have heard Faulk calling out to him, as the door was opening, but he didn't pause, he flung the front door open and ran, not even bothering to shut it behind him.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

How long or how far Mox ran, he didn't know. He was trying to stay off roads, sticking to the shadows, because he didn't want Faulk to start driving around and find him. He ran, trying not to think, just trying to focus on moving, but it wasn't easy. This wasn't running to clear his mind, this was running to _escape_ his mind, and there was no way to do that. The wound in his leg started hurting, no doubt not liking being stretched by his running, but he didn't care, he was grateful, because it took some of his mind away from his situation, that his whole world felt as if it were made of glass and was shattering.

While he wanted to stay off streets, the area was so residential that it was almost impossible. Every house had a fence, if not in the front yard, definitely in the back. He wished there were woods he could run through, even though it was so dark, he would likely fall a lot. But he kept running, staying off the sidewalk as best he could.

While the fear and the feelings of his life shattering were not subsiding, the wound was starting to _really_ throb. Exhaustion was taking over, when he realized he was near Java Joe's. He needed a moment to regroup and pull himself together, just a bit of alone time where he didn't have to run. It would be an obvious choice for Faulk to go to, if he was looking for him, but Mox would take the chance.

It wasn't until he was inside and about ready to approach the counter to order, that he realized he hadn't brought his wallet with him. After the shock of what happened to the rock, he had just left with Faulk, not thinking straight. _Aw, fuck,_ he thought, patting his pockets one more time, even though he knew his wallet was back the room he was sleeping in at Donna's house. Then, he realized even his cell phone was gone, and he _knew_ he'd brought that from home. So, somewhere between getting into Faulk's car and running here, he'd lost his phone. _I probably lost it while running and now I'll never find it._ Swallowing, he turned to leave the shop.

"Hey!" a female voice called out.

He didn't think he was being called on, but he turned anyway, and realized it was the red haired girl who worked there, and she was signalling him to come over.

Mox knew she was studying him, seeing that he was a sweaty mess, his hair plastered to his head, his face red. He looked down at his leg and wasn't surprised to see blood seeping out from the injury. Donna had done what she could to bandage it, but she hadn't bandaged it with the idea of Mox going for a long run.

Mox forced himself to look as normal as he could. "Sorry, forgot my wallet, I'll be right back." He found his fingers crossing as he said the last part. He wasn't going to be back.

"You look tired," the redhead said, as she motioned to a spot by the counter. "Sit down, I need a taste tester for a drink I just came up with. You won't need your wallet for that, it's free."

Mox knew that _she_ knew his wallet wasn't anywhere nearby. He went to the counter and sat down. The place was quiet, only two of the tables occupied and fortunately, the counter was empty.

The redhead moved about behind the counter, getting a cup, grinding beans, pumping syrup. She said nothing until she put the drink in front of him and sprayed a cone of whipped cream over the top, as if giving the drink a white cap. It was a Behemoth, what they called their largest sized coffee, which told Mox it was not just a sample, Redhead was giving him a free drink. Gratefully, he took a sip. It tasted of mint, not just one type, but as if Peppermint, Spearmint, and wintergreen had been mixed together, and under that was chocolate flavor that made the whole thing taste like a cup of melted mint chocolate chip ice cream, designed to help keep you awake. "Thank you," he said, gratefully.

"You're welcome." She leaned on the counter. "Do you like it?"

He nodded. "It's pretty good. What's it called?" He normally didn't like the sweeter, flavored mixtures so many folks liked, but at this moment, he could appreciate the sugar and whipped cream. He realized it had been a long time since he'd had anything substantial to eat.

"I haven't decided yet," Redhead said, with a faint grin. "I have to see if people like it first. But, I'm toying with calling it a Wintermint Delight." She batted her eyes, letting him know she meant the name to sound corny.

"Won't it be, like a Christmas drink then?"

She shrugged. "We can make an iced version too. In the summer, it can be a refreshing reminder of a cold winter day."

He couldn't help but smile at that as he took another sip. For a moment, he could almost forget his glass world shattering. Almost. He went to take another sip, but his hands began to tremble so badly he was afraid he'd spill his coffee, so he put it on the counter.

The redhead gave the cup a look, biting her lower lip, but when she looked in his face, she was smiling. "Mox, if you don't mind my-"

"How do you know my name?" He interrupted, instantly on guard.

"I've heard you and Faulk talking to each other," she said, shrugging.

"What do I call you?" he asked. For some reason, this place didn't make their employees wear name tags.

"Cinnamon," she said, looking faintly embarrassed. "My parents were big Neil Young fans and didn't stop to think they were giving me a stripper name." She said this last part, quickly, as if she had said it way too many times and knew she'd be saying it a lot more in her life. "If you don't mind my saying this, you look like you are having one of the worst days of your life. Are you okay?"

He wanted to lie, but he knew it was useless and shook his head. "I-I-I" he stammered, then gave up, forcing his hands to steady themselves enough to drink from the coffee cup. He thought it would steady him, but the moment he put the cup down, the trembling became worse, affecting more than his arms, affecting his shoulders and chest, and then he realized he wasn't trembling, he was crying. He spilled no tears, made no noise, but he knew he was crying and he was mortified.

"Do you have someone who you can call?" Cinnamon asked him.

He started to shake his head, then realized that yes, he did have someone he could call. He began searching his pockets for his cell phone, forgetting that he lost it, then remembering, which made the trembling worse. He looked down at the counter, remembering what Lance had told him once when he was having a panic attack. Focus on one thing and one thing only.

A hand came into view on the bar, sliding a cell phone towards him. "You can use mine," he heard Cinnamon say.

He didn't know what type of cell phone plan she had, if she'd be paying roaming charges, but at that moment, he didn't care. He had money, back at Donna and Jacob's place, he'd pay her back. Without asking, he rose to his feet and took the phone outside.

He found a quiet area, away from the outdoor seating, towards the back of the building. He dialed one of the few numbers he knew by heart. It was late, but hopefully, it wasn't _too_ late.

Maybe Cinnamon was one of those good luck charms, because the person who answered was the very person Mox wanted to speak to. "Hello?"

Hearing the voice on the other line, Mox's eyes filled with tears and for a few seconds he couldn't talk.

"Hello?" The voice repeated again.

The terror that he might get hung up on was the only thing that allowed Mox to find his voice. "Dad? I wanna come home. _Please,_ let me come home."

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : I said at the beginning some familiar people would show up in this story. But, please don't take this to mean that Cinnamon and Mox are going to get together. This is a different reality and as far as I'm concerned, this will be their only interaction.

Hey, week four of being healthy enough to post my own stuff! It's actually starting to feel like the norm for me.


	21. Chapter 21

**Random Nonsense:** Has anyone else ever noticed that sometimes the doc manager on FFnet goes wonky and you have to hit the spacebar twice? And then you get two breaks instead of one and you can't fix it. Or am I the only person this happens to? The first time it happened, I thought I'd broken my laptop, but it only happens when I use FFnet.

* * *

.

 **Chapter Twenty-One**

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Sefa was in the kitchen, about to head up to bed when the phone rang. He scowled at it, debating if he should just let it ring, but Lance and Roman were asleep, he didn't want them waking up.

"Hello?" He knew his voice was a little gruff, but with cell phones becoming more and more popular, and everyone in the family having one, it seemed that the only people who called on the house phone were salesmen or people asking for charitable donations. It was night time and he _reall_ y wanted to go to bed and get some sleep. When nobody said anything, he repeated his greeting, in an even gruffer voice, "Hello?"

"Dad?" It was Mox, "I wanna come home. _Please_ let me come home."

Sefa could hear the pain in Mox's voice, heard the tremble he was known to get when things were upsetting, but this was worse than anything he'd heard the entire time Mox had been living with them. _This_ was a Mox who was at the breaking point, or maybe a little beyond it. "Mox?" He tried to keep his voice steady, "What's going on?"

The instant he said Mox's name, Jen, who had been heading up the stairs, hurried over to him. Sefa knew Jen wanted to start asking questions, she might even want to take the phone away from him and talk to him herself, but he held up his hand, motioning her to stop before she could start.

"Everything's wrong," Sefa heard not just the tremor in Mox's voice, he heard the tears and the cracking. "Please, Dad, I know I'm supposed to stay here longer a little longer, or forever, but I want to come _home!_ You told me if it didn't work, I could come home, and it's not working, it's not working _so_ badly, _please_ let me come home."

"Mox, what happened?" Sefa said, trying to think of what could be so horrible that it turned Mox into this shattered soul trying to hold himself together. _God, he sounds as bad as he did, the day he found the disposable underwear. At least he's still with us, not caught in the past._

"Everything," Mox almost wailed, his voice cracking badly on the 'ing.' "I stabbed myself because I had bad thoughts,I threw a kid's keys in the grass and my sister painted my rock, now it's all stupid, and-"

"Whoa, slow down," Sefa said. The kid's words were coming so fast and furious that he couldn't make out what the kid was saying and the first part concerned him the most. "You _stabbed_ yourself?"

"Yes," Mox said, and he sniffled and it was obvious the kid was crying. "With a letter opener, in the leg."

"Where _are_ you?" Sefa wanted to jump into the phone and be by Mox's side right this second. "Are you bleeding? Mox, _do we need to call an ambulance?"_

Now Jen was looking terrified and she started to head towards the office and Sefa knew it was to pick up the extension. He reached out and grabbed her arm to stop her. She looked at him, ready to shake him off, but he shook his head. Mox didn't need two upset people.

"No, I got an infection and had to go to the hospital," Mox said, further confusing everything for Sefa. "But it's all just going wrong, Dad. Please, you _promised_ me I could come home if I wanted, and all I want to do is come home. I can't be what they think I am!"

"Mox, we'll get you home," Sefa said, firmly. He was still holding on to Jen's arm, but not as hard, she wasn't trying to get away anymore, she was listening. Mox's voice was loud enough that she likely heard most of it. "I'm _not_ breaking my promise. Are you home?"

"If I was home, I wouldn't have _called_ you!" Mox said, "We wouldn't need to be having this talk, I'd be asleep or running ropes!"

"I meant _Donna's_ place," Sefa said. "Are you with Donna and Jacob?"

"No," Mox said. "I'm next to a coffee house because Faulk _kissed_ me and I kissed him back and I didn't want to, but I did, because it wasn't me in charge."

Sefa was confused and bewildered, but he knew one thing, that he had to get to Mox as soon as possible. "Can you go to Donna and Jacob?"

"No!" Mox said. "I don't want to see Amber, I don't want to pretend I like the the rock, I don't want to talk to Donna, I can't be that person they see me as, I can't do it. I'm not that person, I'm not a great person!" He was talking loud enough now that Jen could hear him.

"Jon, we love you!" Jen said, loud enough so he could hear. "You _are_ a great person, we love you, and we want you home!"

"Tell Mom I'm _not_ great," Mox almost demanded.

"She's your mom, you'll never convince her you're not perfect, even if you rob a bank," Sefa said. "She'd find a way to blame the bank. So, I'm not even going to try. Where are you now, Mox?"

"I'm at a coffee shop," Mox said. "I lost my cell phone, too. The girl who works here let me use hers. _Please,_ just let me come home. I swear I'll do anything you want, _anything_. I'll work for free, I was willing to work for lessons anyway, you're the one that insisted on paying me, I don't need money, I just need to come _home."_

Everything Mox said came out fast and jumbled, as if all the words were heavy beads being strung on a long cord, each one smashing into the one before it, and Sefa knew he had to get Mox back home.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Mox was still outside, talking to his dad when Cinnamon came up to him. "It's okay," she said softly, "Talk as long as you need to, I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

Mox looked up at her, knowing how bad he must look, the tears, his sitting on the ground, all of it. "H-hang on," he said to his dad, then looked at Cinnamon. "I'm talking to my dad."

"Good," Cinnamon said, nodding, "I'll leave you to it, then. Just come back in when you're done."

"Mox!" He heard Sefa talking from the phone and turned his attention back to it. "If that's the owner of the phone you're borrowing, let me talk to her."

"Wait!" Mox called out, as Cinnamon was walking back towards the shop. She stopped and turned as he got to his feet, walking over and holding out the phone. "My dad wants to talk to you."

If Cinnamon thought anything strange was going on, she didn't let on, she nodded and took the phone. Mox didn't know if he was allowed to listen or not, so he stood there, figuring Cinnamon would motion to him somehow, if he should leave. _Where do I go?_ he thought. _I don't want to go back to Donna's house, I just want to go home._

"Hello?" Cinnamon said into the phone. There were introductions, and then it seemed that Sefa was asking questions and Cinnamon was giving answers. "It's called Java Joes, it's a coffee shop near the campus of Cincinnati University."

Pause. Mox could hear Sefa talking, but couldn't make out the words.

"We'll be open for another couple of hours. Then, I'll be closing, which will take me about half an hour." More talk from Sefa then Cinnamon spoke again. "He can stay while I'm closing, it's not a big deal.

More pausing, then Cinnamon paused too, and Mox knew Sefa had asked a question which Cinnamon wasn't sure how to answer. Finally she spoke. "I've seen him look better."

Now Sefa's muffled voice spoke again. This time, Cinnamon didn't hesitate. "No, that's fine. I don't mind." She followed that statement by giving two phone numbers, telling Sefa the second one was for the shop. Then she handed the phone back to Mox. "I'll be inside, come back in when you're done."

Before he could answer, she walked away and Mox put the phone to his ear. "Dad?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Look, I have to call Donna, -"

"No!" Mox interrupted. "I don't want to-"

"Mox," It was Sefa's turn to interrupt and his voice was calm, but it was clear he was not going to put up with any arguing about this. "I can't just teleport to where you are. You are going to have to go somewhere. At least if you go to Donna's place, you can start packing up your stuff. I'm going to do what I can to get there as soon as possible, but you can't wander the streets all night."

"I don't wanna," Mox said, his voice barely a whisper, "But I will."

"If you can't deal, when you get there, lock yourself in your room if you want to. But I want to know that you're safe. Now, go inside and have some more coffee. Spice Girl says you can stay there until Donna picks you up."

"Cinnamon," Mox said. "She's not Spice girl. I don't wanna hang up."

"I know," Sefa said, "But we're wasting the young lady's minutes, and I have to get off the phone so I can make arrangements. Your mother is checking flights on the computer, right now. So, we have to hang up. Just please, promise me you will stay in the coffee shop until Donna or Jacob picks you up. Do not run off."

"I won't," Mox said. "I just wanna come _home."_

"I know you do, and we're going to do everything we can to get you home."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

When Sefa got off the phone, Jen was in his office, looking for information on flights. "I want to go get him," Sefa said. "I don't know how he'll do, alone on a plane. I have to call Donna and get her to pick him up and bring him to her place to wait."

Jen looked up from the computer and nodded. I'm trying to get you a round trip ticket and a one way ticket for Mox." Her eyes narrowed and she got that "mama bear" look to her. "It _will_ be one way. He is _not_ going back there."

"Not if we can do anything to stop it," Sefa said. "But Donna promised me that if it didn't work out, he could come back here and sign over all custody. I would call this a major case of _not_ working out."

"What do you think happened?" Jen speculated, frowning.

"A lot of things happened," Sefa said, "And I'll untangle them as we go along, but the major thing is that we pushed Mox too fast. Our intentions might have been pure, but we all know about that road to hell."

"I never wanted him to go," Jen reminded him.

"I never wanted him to go either, not really," Sefa responded, "But, I thought Donna had a point and I understood. She never had a chance to be his mother, she deserved a chance. But I should have factored more of Mox into the equation and less of me as a parent. It doesn't matter." He sighed, running his fingers through his thinning, gray, hair. "You keep looking, I'll call Donna."

"Would you rather I call and you look?" Jen offered.

"Hell no," Sefa said. "I'm afraid you'll bite the woman's head off before she finishes saying hello." Before Jen could reply to his comment, he turned and left the room.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Donna Ambrose Miller felt she might be having the worst day of her life, since Dean had first disappeared. _And damn it, I can think of him as being Dean back then, because he was!_ She'd had to have a talk with Amber about respecting personal property, while in her heart she understood her daughter's intentions, and hated that she might be crushing a little bit of her daughter's generous spirit.

Amber, as could be predicted, cried pitifully that her rock hadn't been a hit, and sobbed even louder when Donna explained that while her gesture was out of love, it still didn't give her the right to alter his property.

"But it was just an' _ugly_ rock!" Amber wailed. She had brought Amber into the master bedroom to get some privacy, but Donna was sure Jacob and Zach could hear her carrying on.

"Not to Mox it wasn't," Donna said firmly. "He attached meaning to it. And he _told_ you he liked the rock just the way it was. If you wanted to give him a lovely, decorated rock, you could have found another rock."

She started sobbing to the point where Jacob came in and started asking Donna if maybe she wasn't being too harsh, which did nothing to improve Donna's mood. She ended up telling Amber she should go and watch TV with Zach, even though she _wanted_ to tell her to go to her room.

When Amber was gone, Donna turned on Jacob. When he defended his position saying it was just a rock, Donna asked him coldly if he'd feel the same way if Amber and Britney decided to paint the van with sparkles and flowers. When Jacob shrugged and said he'd be upset, but in the long run, he could make Amber wash it off, Donna almost screamed at him, as loudly as Amber had been wailing and carrying on. If the kids hadn't been in the house, she probably _would_ have screamed. "Remember those painted rocks we had, surrounding the trees in the backyard?" She reminded him. "We didn't like that they were white, so I tried to remove the paint. It was impossible, remember? No matter what I tried, you could _still_ see they had been painted white. We can't just restore Mox's rock. And again, it doesn't _matter._ She defaced his property without his permission, she can't _do_ that."

She wasn't sure who had won or lost on that argument, but Amber coldly refused to let Donna tuck her into bed. "I want _Daddy_ to do it," she said. Which told Donna that Amber thought she had an ally in Jacob.

Donna knew it would blow over. Tomorrow, when it was time for breakfast, Amber would be over her snit, but it still infuriated her that Amber felt she could be in a snit at all. She had painted the rock. It wasn't like Donna wanted her to wear a hair shirt and flog herself, but was it wrong for her to at least understand that what she'd done had been wrong? That no matter how ugly she thought the rock was, that didn't give her the right to just take it and paint it?

Donna tried later to remove the paint from the rock, deciding it sure couldn't hurt. She was able to get the shellac off, using a lot of paint stripper, and she got it down to being faded, but it was still obvious the rock had been painted and said "Mox" on it. She poured some paint stripper into a plastic bucket and put the rock in that to let it soak.

While she was doing that, Jacob went to "work on his novel" and when she finished, he was still working on it, so Donna sat in the kitchen feeling torn. Part of her wanted to try again to talk to Amber, to get her to understand. Another part wanted to fix things up with Jacob, and yet another wanted to call Faulk and make sure Mox was all right. _If Mox isn't home by midnight, I will call Faulk. It will be okay then, I can pretend I'm just worried about getting the bandages on Mox's wound fixed._

Then, her cellphone rang. She looked at it and saw it was Mox's number, so she answered it quickly. "Mox?"

"No, Mrs. Miller, it's not Mox, it's Faulk."

Donna heard hesitation and fear in Faulk's voice. "Is Mox okay?" She sat up straighter in her chair, as if ready to leap from it.

"I-I don't know," Faulk admitted. "He-he ran off. I drove around looking for him, but I couldn't find him. When I got home, I saw he'd dropped his phone."

"So Mox is walking around out there, alone at _night?"_ Donna's voice began rising and she was glad the twins were upstairs. "With no _phone?"_

"Yes, Ma'm," Faulk said, and his voice sounded so miserable that if it wasn't Mox they were discussing, Donna might have felt sorry for him. "And it's all my fault and I'm sorry."

"What happened?" Donna asked, starting to look around for her purse, ready to leap into the van and start looking for him. The terror she had felt all those years came flooding back. It didn't matter that Dean was sixteen and looked strong enough to take care of himself, her boy had gone missing, _again._

"I-I kissed him," Faulk confessed. "It wasn't a passionate kiss, or at least it wasn't supposed to be. I-I think I got the wrong signals-"

The house phone rang, and Donna pounced on it, answering it "Hello?"

"Donna, it's Sefa, Mox is okay."

A huge breath of relief escaped her and suddenly she didn't care at all what Faulk had to say. "Hang on a sec, Sefa, please don't hang up." She pushed the mute on the house phone and then went back to her cell phone. "Faulk, Mox's father is on the landline and he says Mox all right," she would realize later she had called Sefa Mox's father. "I'm going to talk to him. If you want to be useful, bring Mox's phone over here."

"I-I'll do that, Ma'm," Faulk said.

She hung up her cell phone and turned her attention back to Sefa. "Where _is_ he? Faulk has his phone, so how did Mox talk to you?"

"Ah okay, a least we know where the phone is," Sefa said. "He called me on a borrowed phone."

"Faulk is going to bring Mox's phone here," Donna said.

"Good." Sefa drew in a breath. "Donna, you promised me when we talked about letting him come out there, that if it didn't work out, if being with you wasn't what was best for Mox, you'd understand. I'm heading out to get Mox and I'm bringing him home. I'm not going to try to keep him out of your life, but I'm taking him back to Florida and I think the next time you see him, it should be you coming to visit him, not the other way around."

Donna heard the determination in Sefa's voice. He was being as civil as he could, but he wasn't going to debate this, and he was more than willing to get a lot more aggressive about it if he had to. And if Donna was going to be honest with herself, she knew he was right. She'd made a proper botch of everything. It was too late for her and Mox to be mother and son. He had bonded with the Reigns family, and she should have realized that. "I won't fight," she said, sighing deeply. "I was wrong. He belongs with you."

"I don't think sending him to you was a good idea," Sefa admitted, "but I don't think we thought this through. You wanted your boy back and we thought, as parents ourselves, that he did deserve to give living with you and your family a try. But we weren't thinking about _Mox_. The kid has been through a lot. Not just from the moment he was away from you until he came to us, but after that too. When his kidnappers came back into his life, as brief as it was. I think we all were thinking Mox was in a better state of mind than he really was. The kid is tough, he'll take so much, but we pushed way too much on him. He needs to come home. He needs to work in the camp. I know he was involved in HWA, but I don't think that was enough. I think he needs to be here, where he can run the ropes whenever he wants, where… I hate to say this, but I'm not going to mince words, he needs to be with _us._ We all love him, we all told him we'd always do what was best for _him_ , and I don't think we did. I think we all handled this as what was best for parents, not the child."

"I know," Donna whispered. "I-I promised. I wanted a chance to… be his mother again, but I can't be. He's never called me anything but Donna. I haven't really tried to be his mother, either. He calls Jen, Mom. Not me."

"The two of you will work something out," Sefa said. "And, I think until your little girl painted his rock, he was getting fond of the twins. He will again, once he's calmed down and healed spiritually a bit. You and your family can come down to Florida any time you want, and we can work things out a lot slower and where Mox feels the most comfortable."

"Yes," Donna said, nodding too, even though Sefa couldn't see it. "But he's safe now?"

"He's at a coffee shop," Sefa said. "A place called Java Joe's. The girl who works there, she has a spice name… like Sage or Parsley… uhm… Cinnamon, _that's_ it. She's keeping an eye on him. You need to pick him up and bring him back so he can pack. My wife is looking at flights right now. When I know more information, I'll let you know. But he's expecting you to pick him up. He might lock himself in the room he's using when he gets home, and let him if he wants to. He just needs some alone time. I'll keep in touch with the details."

"All right," Donna said, sounding like a robot. She was on autopilot right now. _I failed him. Twice._ "I'll go get him. Anything else I can do?"

"Yeah, do you know Faulk's number? I want to ask him what happened."

Donna did have Faulk's number, from the note he'd left her at the emergency room. She had tossed it into her purse while they had been at the wound clinic. She fetched it and gave Sefa the number. "Faulk told me he kissed Mox and that upset him," she said.

"What?" Sefa's voice took on a tone of anger.

"I-I think it was an accident, or signals got crossed," Donna said. "Faulk's been really good to him. I don't think he'd attack Mox. But, I think Faulk is gay. And I think he _didn't_ know Mox wasn't."

"Mox considers himself asexual," Sefa said, sounding weary again. "All right, I'll take care of this. You go and get Mox."

"I will," Donna said, grateful that she would at least get to spend a little time alone with him, even though she was pretty sure there would be little talking between the two of them.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

As Sefa hung up the phone, Jen came into the kitchen, looking upset. "There aren't any flights until six tomorrow morning. There are no direct flights, all have at least one connector. It's going to take you about five to six hours to get there."

Sefa drew in a sigh. "Maybe I should drive," he considered. "If I don't stop for breaks, I can be up there in about the same time, maybe less. And I won't have to contend with renting a car. If Mox has stuff to bring back, we can do it easily in the SUV."

"I don't know," Jen said, biting her lip. "I don't like the idea of you driving that long, alone."

"Jesh, I'm not a kid and I'm not an old man, either. I'll be fine," Sefa scowled. "And it's not like you have to worry about the the car. The new SUV is in great condition." The family's ancient SUV was still around, but Sefa had finally broken down and gotten another one for camp use, only a couple years old and with low mileage.

"How about if you take Marc along?" Jen suggested. "Then he could spell you if you needed rest."

"No!" Sefa insisted. "Marc has to run the school until I get back. Besides, the way he drives when it's dark, we won't even be out of Florida by daylight!"

"I don't want you going alone!" Jen insisted.

"He doesn't have to," a voice said from the entryway. It was Roman, and from the look on his face, it was easy to see he'd been listening in for a bit. He might not know exactly what was going on, but he knew it involved getting Mox back. "I can go with him. I have my license, so I can help with the driving when Dad gets tired."

Sefa and Jen exchanged looks then Sefa nodded. "Go, pack an overnight bag. Do _not_ , under any circumstances, wake your brother, or he will never shut up about coming along. Wake him and neither of you gets to go."

"I won't wake him," Roman said, and before his parents could offer any other rules or objections, he left the room.

Jen looked at Sefa, "While you pack a bag for yourself, I'll make some coffee and sandwiches for the trip."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** One more chapter. I am working on another story for this series that will tie things up. I am hoping that I will be able to start posting the new one the week after this one is finished.


	22. Chapter 22

Fake Claimer: Sorry this story got posted a little late. I had a chance to house sit at a great place, a cottage in the woods, overlooking a lake. The only problem was that the owner has this awful internet that stops working all the time. And it stopped working for me, of course. Or, I'd have it for an hour or so, then lose it again.

* * *

.

 **Chapter Twenty-two**

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

When Donna got to the coffee shop, the place was going to be closing in a few minutes, and it was empty, except for Mox and a redhead woman who was behind the counter, talking to him. From the looks of it, she was doing most of the talking. But, Mox was listening to her, a giant cup of coffee in his hands. The redhead looked up briefly when Donna opened the door, gave a slight nod, and turned her attention back to Mox. Mox looked up at Donna as well, for the briefest of moments and then turned his attention back to the girl. _I'll bet that's Cinnamon._

As she got closer, she could hear the redhead was talking about wrestling, which probably explained why Mox was listening to her, intently. "Before HWA, there were a couple very small promotions, and my father would take me," she was saying. "I really enjoy wrestling, but I don't want to be a wrestler, just a watcher."

Mox actually smiled to the redhead. "All I've ever wanted to do was wrestle. But people who want to just watch wrestling are important, too."

"Mox?" Even though he knew she was there, Donna kept her voice soft. "We should get going. It's almost closing time and I'm sure… Cinnamon here wants to close up and go home."

"Yeah," Mox said, his voice gruff, but steadier than it had been. "I have to use the bathroom first." He rose from the seat and headed to the bathroom, leaving Donna alone with Cinnamon.

"Can I get you anything?" Cinnamon asked. "If you want a cup of coffee, I'll give it to you on the house, it's the last of the pot and I'll be throwing it away."

Donna shook her head. "Thank you, thought. Not just for the offer, but for watching out for Mox."

Cinnamon shrugged. "It wasn't a problem at all." She motioned to the empty shop, "As you can see, it wasn't exactly like we were cranking."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

When they were in the car, driving, Donna told him that Faulk had found his phone and was going to bring it by the house. At the mention of Faulk's name, Mox frowned. "He won't be there, will he? I don't want to talk to him."

"No, he's just going to drop it off," Donna said, then added, "He feels very bad about what happened."

"He _started_ it," Mox said, his nostrils flaring. "No matter what he tells you, _he_ started it. It never would have happened if _he_ didn't start it."

"Mox," Donna tried to keep her voice gentle and calm. "What happened? I know he kissed you, but did something happen _beyond_ that?"

"I kissed him back," Mox said. "I didn't want to, but I did, because that must have been what _he_ wanted, because he kissed me first.

"He told me he believes he got the wrong signals from you," Donna said. "He thought that.. uh, you might be gay, like he is."

"I'm not _gay,_ " Mox said. "I'm not _heterosexual,_ I'm not _bisexual_ , I don't want anything to do with sex, Why don't people _get_ that?"

"Then why did you kiss him back?" Donna asked.

Mox turned and looked at her, and Donna could feel the stare almost as if it were heat on her cheek. "Because that's what I'm _supposed_ to do," he said, his voice cold. "That's what I grew up believing. That it didn't matter what _I_ wanted, all that mattered was that I did what I was told to do, or what people wanted me to do. Faulk kissed me, so he must have wanted to kiss me back."

"Mox, you don't have to do that anymore," Donna said. "I thought the Reigns made that clear and I thought I was too, you don't have to do something that makes you feel bad about yourself. You don't have to do something you feel is wrong, just because someone wants you to."

The stare continued and she still felt that heat. "I didn't want to come out here," He finally said. "I wanted to stay with my family. But no one seemed to give a shit about that now, did they?"

The rest of the ride was silent.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Mox's phone was on the kitchen counter and as he looked at it, he saw he had voicemail. He was hoping it was news from Sefa, so he listened. The first message was from Faulk, telling him that he was sorry about what happened. Mox scowled and deleted it. He wasn't ready to talk about it.

The second message was from Sefa. "I'm sorry, Mox, but there aren't any flights I can take to get to you sooner. Or even a flight you can take by yourself."

Mox almost cried hearing Sefa's voice and part of him was terrified the next part of the message would be that he'd have to stay here as agreed, until the very end of July. "But don't worry," Sefa's message continued. "Roman and I are heading up in the SUV. We got a new one since you've been gone, so it'll make it just fine. The directions from MapQuest says the drive will be about ten hours. But, that isn't taking into account that we'll have to stop for gas and bathroom breaks. On the other hand, Roman and I both have a lead foot, so we're going to try to get there as soon as we can. Hang in there, and call when you get this, so we know."

The relief was so strong it almost had a taste. He would call when he got to the room he was using. "They're driving up," he told Donna, looking at the time the call had come through. "They left about half an hour or so. It'll be about ten hours before they get here, give or take." He shut the phone and shoved it in his pocket. As he headed for the stairs, Donna stopped him.

"Mox, by the time they get here, it will be mid morning. I'm going to send Jacob and the twins out for breakfast and to spend the day together, to avoid any… dramatics. I am going to ask one thing of you. Are you willing to come down and say goodbye to Amber and Zach? They're kids and they won't understand that you'd be in the house and not even willing to say goodbye. Are you willing to do that, at least? Say goodbye?"

Mox tried not to scowl. "Do I have to keep telling Amber I love the rock?" he asked. "Because I never want to see that rock again."

"I promise you the rock will not be mentioned," Donna said. "I've already talked to her about it."

Mox nodded. "Then I'll do it."

Donna nodded in return. "The only other thing I ask is that you let me take care of your wound before you leave," she said. "I'll send you… home with the supplies and antibiotics. I'm sure your-" she gulped at this point, but pressed on, "-parents will be able to find a place in Florida where you can get it looked at."

Mox nodded at that, forcing himself not to look too excited over her calling Florida his "home" and the Reigns "his parents." I'm going to my room," he said. "When you want to check the wound just knock on the door."

"Let me get the supplies, I'll be right up."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Donna came up and changed the bandage on his leg, still keeping fairly silent. She asked him if he needed one of the painkillers and he nodded. Along with the supplies, she'd brought up a can of Coke, so he washed the painkiller and the antibiotic pill with the soda. The moment she left the room, he locked the door.

He hadn't brought much stuff, and he hadn't really acquired much while he was here, so packing didn't take him long at all. When he was done with that, he called Sefa's cell phone. and Sefa let him know he was on the way.

"Your brother is driving like a bat out of hell," Sefa informed him. "If we're there later than ten or eleven, it's because we got pulled over."

"And for once, Dad doesn't even mind!" Roman shouted, loud enough so Mox could hear. "I can't wait to see you, bro, I missed you. Lance missed you. Mom missed you. Marc missed you."

"Just stay safe," Mox said. "I-I don't want you guys to get hurt coming to get me."

"We'll do fine," Sefa assured him. "Don't worry about us. How are _you_ doing?"

"Better," Mox said. "I'm all packed and stuff."

"Why don't you lay down on the bed," Sefa suggested. "You're probably tired. I can catch you up on what's going on."

Mox kicked off his sneakers and laid down on the bed. True to his word, Sefa began talking about everything that had happened with the family and the school, since the moment Mox had left. Mox found the longer Sefa talked, the heavier his eyes were getting and the harder it was to follow the conversation. He closed his eyes.

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

"The boy's phone might need a charge when he wakes up," Sefa said, as he hit the disconnect button on his cell phone and put it in one of the cup holders.

Roman nodded. "So, he's asleep?"

"Yep," Sefa said, "I even heard a couple snores, so I know he's out."

"I'm glad," Roman said. "I don't know everything, but from what I did hear with you and Mom, he needs to come home."

"Yeah," Sefa agreed. "And I'll be honest here, we _neve_ r should have sent him. He wasn't ready. And I'll be sorry about that for the rest of my life. Mox trusted us, and we let him down. I just hope he'll be able to trust me and your mother again."

"Get him back to the camp where he can run ropes for ten hours and he'll be fine," Roman said, a faint trace of amusement in his voice, then, his voice grew serious. "Is his birth mother going to give us any trouble?"

"Nope," Sefa said. "She understands. Roman, she really is a good person and she really did think she was doing what was best for Mox."

Roman shifted into the passing lane to get ahead of a car in the middle lane that had the nerve to only be doing ten miles above the speed limit. "I told myself that too, and I told Lance that. But I don't know if I believe it or not. I think she was more interested in doing what she thought was right. I mean, I get it, she gave birth to him and she wanted to be his mother, but there is an awful lot of 'I want' in her reasons and very little, 'what does Mox want'."

"Yeah," Sefa said with a sigh. "But, if she's guilty, we all are. All of us adults, I mean. But especially me and Donna. But, we can't erase it, it's done. All we can do is bring him back and help him get over it."

"That Seth dude we met at Christmas is coming up the first of August," Roman reminded him. "I think that'll be good for Mox. They really hit it off and they can both talk wrestling together every free moment."

Sefa chuckled. "Seth is rather obsessed from what you all told me. Do we have his info at home? Like how to get in touch with his parents and all?"

"Yeah, Mom does," Roman said. "Why?"

"Because maybe I'll offer it so the kid can stay for the whole month instead of half. If he's half as good as you, Mox, and Lance were saying, I can offer him a scholarship for another two weeks." Sefa mused. "I just have to make sure his parents are okay with that and that he can delay his return flight."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Saying goodbye to Jacob and the twins wasn't as hard as Mox thought it would be. And to his surprise, Amber threw her arms around him, tears falling down her cheeks and told him she was sorry she'd ruined his rock. _So much for not mentioning the rock_ , he thought, _but at least I don't have to pretend I like it._

That part was a little awkward, but it was a whole lot easier than having to pretend he loved what she'd done. He hugged her back. "It-it's okay," he said, feeling awkward. He didn't want her to think he was okay with it, but he didn't want her to ruin her life over it either. When they drew apart, he knelt down so he was looking at her eye to eye, "Uh, just… well, the next time you have the urge to make a pretty rock for me, pick the rock yourself. Then, it will be special because I know it's a rock _you_ picked, just for me."

"I will," she promised.

Zach didn't hug him, but Zach wasn't a huggy kid. He held his hand out and Mox shook it. Jacob also shook hands with him, and told him he was sorry things hadn't worked out better. Mox shrugged, trying to think of something nice he could say, and finally thanked him for teaching him how to ride a bike.

"My pleasure," Jacob said. "And that's your bike, by the way. If there's room in your dad's car, you can bring it with you. We bought it for you."

"Thank you," Mox said. And he was grateful. About the best thing that had happened to him here was learning to ride a bike. Then he frowned, the word "bike" bringing up the memory of Amber's bike and Scott. "Jacob," he said. "That kid Scott who lives up at the end of the street? He's a bad person. He picks on the kids. He offered to get me drugs. Amber and Zach told me they and all the kids have told their parents how he is, and they're told to just leave him alone. Stop doing that. He calls your daughter and your son names. He ran over Amber's bike. Stop him. And don't _ever_ let him be alone with your kids. I just get a very bad vibe from him."

Amber and Zach looked at him, then looked away, embarrassed, but Mox didn't care. The kids had the right to be able to enjoy the neighborhood without having to worry about being insulted and harassed. And maybe Mox had a tendency to think all people like Scott were child molesters, thanks to his own experiences, but he didn't think it was a bad thing to tell Jacob and Donna not to let Scott ever be alone with the kids, even if it turned out he wasn't. At the very least, he did get a joy out of hurting kids.

Jacob looked startled, then looked at Zach and Amber, who still looked embarrassed, but they nodded in agreement. He looked at Mox, "Thank you for letting me know."

"I also took 80 bucks from him to pay for Amber's wheel," Mox said. "And I didn't do it nicely, but if he tells you I stole from him, I didn't. I just paid myself back."

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

After Jacob and the twins left, Mox started to head for his room, but Donna asked if she could check the wound one last time. Mox agreed. After that, she asked him if he wanted some coffee and he agreed to that. The two of them went into the living room with their coffee. Donna put one of the Wrestling DVDs in the player and instead of going upstairs, they watched it, having the perfect excuse not to talk.

When the one DVD ended, Donna got up to put another one in. "You peed in Aunt Kelly's boots," she said as she put the DVD in its case.

"What?" Mox asked, confused.

"You peed in your Aunt Kelly's boots." Donna repeated as she snapped shut the case and opened another one. "They were expensive leather boots, too. I don't know how she afforded them, she probably stole them. But she loved them and you peed in them."

"Who's Aunt Kelly?" Mox asked.

"She was a friend of mine…" Donna's voice trailed off as if she were thinking if she should tell him something. She finally shrugged. "She actually was the person who got me to take drugs again after you were born and I was done breastfeeding. I'm not saying it's her fault, I didn't need much convincing and I was dumb enough to think I could just do it 'once in awhile,' but she's the one who had the stuff and offered it. You _hated_ her."

"It sounds like I had good instincts," Mox said.

"She was furious at you," Donna continued, getting another DVD out of its case and putting it in the DVD player. "When I asked you why you did it, you said you didn't do it, that Hulk Hogan came in and peed in her boots because Hulk thought she was a mean person."

Mox couldn't help it, a snort of laughter escaped him. "I _said_ that?"

"You did," Donna confirmed. "Kelly wanted to kill you. I made you go to your room until she calmed down. I ended up giving her most of our rent money so she could buy another pair. I really had to… hustle for a few days to keep paying for my habit, and pay the rent. I wasn't very happy with you, either. Even if I did think the Hulk Hogan lie was pretty funny. I did yell at your for what you'd done, told you it was bad, but you were pretty stoic about it. You crossed your little arms across your little chest and told me that Aunt Kelly deserved to have her boot peed in and that you only wished she'd stepped in it first."

Now Mox did laugh and Donna did, too. "Why are you telling me this?" Mox asked her.

"You said the other day that I pretended you were perfect," Donna said, as she closed the door to the DVD player and went back to sit on the sofa. "I'm telling you something bad you did. Kelly wasn't a very nice person, but that doesn't mean you had the right to pee in her boots."

"Well, you'll be happy to know I don't do that anymore," Mox said. "I can't be sure, but I don't think I've peed in anyone's boots, since."

"Good," Donna said.

"I can't say the same for Hulk Hogan," Mox continued, a lopsided grin on his face. "Because, maybe he really did sneak in and peed in her boots."

"Well, if that's true, he'll just have to live with that, himself, won't he?"

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Mox heard the SUV pulling into the driveway, just before noon. Before Donna could say anything, he was up on his feet and running to the door. The couple hours they had spent together went a lot easier once Donna confessed to Mox's boot peeing incident, but Mox knew it was a temporary truce, a reprieve of sorts, and the only reason why it had worked was because he was going home.

"Mox, I know you don't want to hear this now," she had told him about fifteen minutes before his dad and brother showed up, "But, I want you to know, you always have a place here. I won't try to move you away from Florida, or from the Reigns. And I'm sorry I did so in the first place, I should have realized you were happy there, and left it alone. But, if for any reason, you need a place to stay, you will always have one with me. I might not be able to be your mother in the way Jen is, but you're still family."

Mox hoped he'd never have to take her up on that offer, but he appreciated the spirit in which it had been offered and nodded.

Roman and Sefa were getting out of the SUV as Mox opened the front door, but Mox didn't want to wait for them to go up the walk. He ran down the stairs and down the path to the driveway. Sefa had his arms open and as if Mox were Lance's age, or maybe even the age of Zach and Amber, he flung himself into them and hugged him tightly. Roman came over, and joined into the hug and for the first time since he'd come here, he felt he was in a place where he completely belonged. Even Heartland Wrestling, which he had really enjoyed wasn't as nice as this. He was where he belonged, he was with his family. Roman and Sefa had their arms around him so tightly, Mox knew they didn't want to let go, they wanted him with them. "Dad," he said, his voice choked.

"Hey, Son," Sefa said, hugging him in return, one hand moving up and down his back to comfort him. "It's okay, we've come to take you home."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Yes, there will be another story in this series, _Who Are You_ , which I will start posting next week.

I know I didn't write an ending where he's at home and everyone greets him, but I just thought that one line was the best way to end it. Especially since there is another story in the works where you'll see him interact with Roman, Lance, Seth, and a few others who will be at the Summer session for kids.

Thank you for staying with this, and I hope I can keep most of you for the next one. Thank you to everyone who read it, more to those who followed and favored, and there aren't words to express my gratitude if you left a review. You're all awesome.


End file.
